#Transparent Glow Gun

[ohproserpine]

viii. deer dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, alastor tweaking, VERY heavy warning for violence and blood, overdose, murder, DEATH, hunting, VERY graphic descriptions of injuries, vox being painfully obvious, vox malfunctions (lmao L), drowning, flooding, mentions of glass piercing skin, a gun, threats of death, valentino warning, alastor's demon form

Alastor's head snapped to the side, with a sickening crack accompanying the movement

"Show me," he snarled, his voice taking on an inhuman quality, heavily filtered by radio waves.

Without hesitation, Angel gestured towards the billboard, his expression blank.

"Get in there, and see for ya'self."

.

A few blocks away, at the Vox Tower.

The heavy door before you swung open to reveal a diner. Chandeliers hung from the lofty ceiling, the crystals casting shattered reflections of light across the expanse of golden tables below. The centerpiece of the room was an expansive aquarium, its transparent walls housing sleek, metallic sharks that glided gracefully through the rose-tinted waters.

Vox guided you inside with a hand on your back, leading you towards a secluded booth. He was dressed in a neat, crisp royal blue suit, perfectly matching the attire chosen for you by Velvette. She had dressed you in a stunning cerulean silk dress that hugged your figure in all the right places. The fabric flowed gracefully as you moved, the long skirt sweeping across the floor with every step of your white heels.

"I didn't realize there was a restaurant tucked away in here," you whispered, your eyes widening in awe as you took in the glowing ambiance of the place.

"Well, we at VoxTek are full of surprises, my dear," Vox chuckled smoothly as he moved to pull back the chair at your table. "It's quite a diverse company."

"I see," you murmured, a sense of intrigue coloring your tone. Taking a step closer, you sank into the plush seat, a soft hum of contentment escaping your lips as you settled in. Vox pushed you in before taking his seat across from you. With a snap of his finger, he gestured for a nearby waiter to approach.

Once the menus were presented, Vox glanced over at you expectantly. "Feel free to order whatever you'd like, my dear. Consider it a treat for all your hard work." A waiter slid over a tablet for the bill, and Vox pulled out a sleek black card which he quickly swiped. "Take your time. We have all night to go over your contract."

Grateful for the gesture, you returned a smile before turning your attention to the menu, scanning the options while Vox took a sip from his glass of wine, the scarlet liquid swirling.

Before the moment could continue, however, a sudden wave of static crackled through the room, causing the tables to tremble, drinks spilling and tabletop decor tumbling aside as the lights flickered erratically. Startled, Vox choked on his drink, coughing as he accidentally spilled it on himself.

You looked around in worry, confusion furrowing your brow as you whipped your head around to assess the situation. A few of the patrons were talking amongst themselves in hushed tones, their concern mirroring your own.

"What was that…?" you asked, your voice barely audible above the din of the lingering static.

"Second fucking time," Vox grumbled under his breath as he attempted to wipe the wine off his crisp white dress shirt, but his efforts only seemed to smear the stain further across his chest. The crimson stain stark against the pristine fabric made it look as if he was just mauled.

With a resigned sigh, he abandoned his futile efforts and without a care in the world, tossed the soiled tablecloth back onto the table. Despite the mishap, he flashed you a reassuring smile.

"I'm sure it was nothing, my dear. Just a temporary glitch in the system. I'll have my workers look into it later," he said, waving it off.

Vox clapped his hands with a sharp, authoritative gesture, summoning a few waiters to swiftly clean up your table and retrieve the menus from your hands. They rushed over with a sense of urgency, their movements swift as they began tidying up the contents, the clatter of plates and silverware echoing through the air.

Meanwhile, a tall, slim blonde receptionist approached, her steps slow as she made her way towards Vox. Her slender fingers pushed her slim red glasses up on the bridge of her nose, accentuating the sharpness of her eyes as she addressed you both with a polite nod of her head.

"Mister Vox," she began, tapping a pen along her clipboard. "I have a few tables available for you upstairs. Would you like to transfer while we get the ground floor cleaned up?"

"Do that for us, will you?" Vox nodded, standing from the table with a sigh you couldn’t hear but could see in the slump of his shoulders. Straightening up, he brushed invisible dust off the front of his jacket and suit pants with swift, agitated motions.

"This day has been nothing but shit to me. The hell even was that?" Vox muttered under his breath as he glanced down at his watch, a luxurious 10-million soul bucks carat model he had allowed himself to purchase a few moons ago. "Alright. Time is ticking. Let's not waste any more time and move somewhere else, love."

With a nod, you followed suit and stood up, mirroring his movements as you prepared to leave the table. But before you could take a step, another round of static swept through the room, much stronger this time. The vibrations pulsed through the floor, causing you to stumble and grasp onto the table for support. The lights flickered and dimmed before abruptly going out, enveloping the room in darkness.

"What the fuck?" Vox snarled, the glow of his screen casting eerie shadows in the darkened environment as he turned sharply to the receptionist, the faint illumination of his face acting as a temporary flashlight.

"Get this checked out, will you?" Vox hissed.

"Of course, Mister Vox," the receptionist nodded briskly, maintaining her composure despite the chaos unfolding around her. Her pen scratched against the paper as she made a note of his request. "I'll have someone look into it right away."

"Satan. Alright, come on, doll," Vox called for you and slipped his hand into yours, interlocking them together with a firm grip. Reluctantly, you accepted his hand, feeling a sense of unease creeping over you as you followed him towards the staircase.

Together, you ascended the steps, the lingering sensation of static still hanging heavily in the air like an ominous fog. Another wave swept through the atmosphere, causing your skin to tingle with prickles and sending a shiver coursing up your spine.

Something was off.

The second floor was eerily quiet, devoid of the bustling activity in the ground floor. The subdued murmurs of the remaining patrons echoed faintly against the walls. You noticed that some of the only patrons left were already making their way down the stairs, their hurried footsteps punctuating the hushed atmosphere as they descended the glass steps.

As you scanned the area, your eyes landed on a TV perched high on the wall. Whatever show had been playing before was now reduced to nothing but static and glitches, its wires crackling with electricity like an angry serpent. Thin wisps of smoke curled up from the tangled mess.

"Doll?" Vox turned his head, catching your wandering eyes with a knowing look.

"I apologize for all this trouble, my dear, but worry not, everything will be handled in a jiffy," he reassured you, his thumb tracing soothing circles over your skin as he guided you by the railings.

Leaning his elbows against the metal, he took your hand into both of his, kneading and caressing it as he grumbled to himself. "If I knew this was going to happen, I would have taken you out another night."

"Well, there's no way you could have seen that coming," you muttered as you turned your gaze towards the ground floor. Below, various demons and imps scurried around, attempting to manage the chaos. With a shrug, you moved to lean against the railings, the cool metal soothing against your skin.

Resting your cheek on your free hand, you continued, "I mean, there's always another day. We can even hash out the contract right now."

At your words, Vox visibly deflated, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he cast you a dry look. "Always so professional, are you?"

"Yes?" you replied with a nod, tilting your head in genuine curiosity. "Is that bad?"

"No, not at all," Vox huffed, a barely concealed smile playing at the corners of his lips as he pulled you closer to him. "It's actually quite charming."

With a yelp, you stumbled into his arms, your hands pressing against his chest for balance. Vox leaned in further, his left hand coming to rest on your back, his touch gentle yet firm as he looked deep into your eyes.

"But would it be bad to say I wanted something more?" he murmured, a pinkish gradient tint glowing softly on his screen, casting a warm and inviting glow across his features.

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden intimacy. "Something more?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze softened, his thumb gently tracing the curve of your cheek, his touch tender against your skin.

"Yes, my dear," he murmured, trailing his thumb down to press and part your lips. "Something… personal."

"I-I don't really get what you're telling me," you stammered, your heart pounding in your chest. As Vox leaned in closer and closer, you found yourself backing away until you could no longer retreat, your back arching dangerously over the railings.

"Then perhaps it's best if I show you," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

Popping the lid open, a familiar golden band sat inside, glimmering softly in the dim light of the room. Your eyes widened with recognition, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"My ring," you gasped, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached out to pluck the precious jewelry from its box. However, your hand halted in midair as you noticed an unfamiliar engraving gleaming on its honey-colored surface. A wavy symbol was etched onto it, its silver detailing standing out against the smooth gold of the ring.

"Vox, what's… what's this?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly as your eyes darted back and forth between the two sights. You could feel a hot fire starting to coil in your gut, your skin already slowly cracking. "What'd you do?"

Vox's expression remained impassive for a moment before softening with a touch of vulnerability. "It's a symbol, my dear," he explained, his voice gentle as he slowly took your hand and raised it to his lips. "A symbol of our… partnership."

"Partnership?" you echoed, your eyes tracing the movement of his lips as he pressed a gentle kiss to your fingers.

"You'd make a good wife," he blurted out, catching you off guard. Your gaze shot up to meet his, wide with surprise, as his declaration hung in the air between you. "I could provide for you. I could make you happy. Give you anything, anything you want."

A clawed hand, its digits tipped with sharp, pointed nails, delicately plucked the ring out of its velvet cushion. Taking your hand in his, he gently slipped the ring onto your finger, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. Before you could even process what had just happened, a wave of static washed over the room, crackling through the air like tiny bolts of lightning, causing him to curse under his breath.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he growled.

The room trembled again as another wave of static hit, this time with greater intensity than any of the past waves. The floors shook beneath your feet, the building groaned in protest, and you stumbled forward with a gasp, your knees buckling under the force of the tremors. Desperately, you reached out to grab onto Vox for support, clinging to him as the world seemed to tilt and sway around you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the receptionist stumbling toward you both. Her calm demeanor had vanished, replaced by frantic movements and panic in her voice.

"Sir, sir!" she huffed, her words punctuated by labored breaths as she stumbled to her feet. Her hair was disheveled, and her clothes were torn. "The building is under attack!"

"Attack?" Vox scoffed out in disbelief, his shoulders shaking from his laughter. "Who in Lucifer's name would even think of crossing me?"

The receptionist shook her head vigorously, her eyes wide with terror, strands of her disheveled hair clinging to her sweaty forehead.

"The radio demon," she rasped out, her voice barely above a whisper, laden with fear.

You froze, your hands shaking as they moved to cover your gaping mouth. Another wave of static shook the building, but your thoughts were scattered, unable to focus amidst the chaos.

Vox's grip tightened on you and the handle of the railings, his claws raking against the metal with a sharp scrape. His expression slowly shifted, the laughter fading as a dangerous seriousness settled over him. He took a deep breath, shutting his eyes briefly before looking back at the receptionist with a dark glint in his eyes, a storm brewing within him.

"What did you just say?"

Before a response could be made, an explosion thundered through the floor, sending debris and dust swirling through the air. In shock, you watched as tendrils of inky shadows began to writhe and thrash, lashing out and slamming into the walls with bone-shaking force.

A particularly powerful tendril crashed against the aquarium, its force shattering the glass and unleashing a deluge of water that flooded down through the ground floor, drowning the patrons below. The sharks were caught in the torrent, their powerful bodies tossed and thrashed about as they were swept away.

Another tendril snaked its way through the dust, wrapping around the receptionist with a vice-like grip before flinging her high into the air like a ragdoll. The desperate cries of the poor woman echoed through the room before abruptly falling silent as she slammed into a wall with a sickening thud.

"Fuck—" Vox cursed, pulling you into him. His arms tightened around you protectively as he scanned the scene, his eyes darting around in search of any functioning piece of technology that could offer an escape and allow him to teleport you both out. However, his efforts proved futile; every piece of tech in the room was malfunctioning, either from the rampant waves of static or the overflow of water from the shattered aquarium.

Creak.

Suddenly, there was a deafening sound, cutting through the air and the chandelier above you both began to tilt dangerously, its crystals catching the flickering light before it started falling. Vox's curses mingled with the din as he swiftly scooped you into his arms, his muscles straining under the weight as he sprinted away just in the nick of time. With a thunderous crash, the chandelier came hurtling down, shattering into a thousand glittering fragments upon impact with the floor.

The glass shrapnel, propelled by the force of the chandelier's collapse, began to ricochet in your direction. Reacting swiftly, Vox made a split-second decision and hurled you over the railing and onto the ground floor. Screaming, you landed with a thud, the shallow water from the shattered aquarium splashing around you, soaking your dress and sending a shiver down your spine. However, Vox's own descent was less fortunate. As he jumped to follow, a few sharp glass shards found their mark, piercing his metallic body, tearing through his frame, and exposing the wires beneath.

"Ah…" Pushing yourself off the floor, you grappled with a moment of hazy confusion before a shock of fiery pain shot up your leg, so intense that your body instinctively recoiled, nails clawing at the flooded floors. A scream threatened to escape your lips, but you bit it back, your breath catching in your throat. Your eyes blinked rapidly against the pain, struggling to adjust to the darkness surrounding you.

Everything blurred together in a mess of shadows and rushing water. Your breaths grew heavy and frantic, your heart pounding in your chest as you began to shake from the sheer intensity of the pain.

"Doll—!" Vox's voice crackled through the darkness, his form glitching and sparking from the water that seeped into his exposed circuits. Before his outstretched hand could reach you, shadowed tendrils snaked around him, yanking him away with a jolt and tossing him aside, sending him skidding into a nearby column.

You watched in horror, the dim light reflecting off the wet floor and casting eerie shadows on your face. Just then, the tendrils, like twisted serpents, slithered towards you, causing you to shut your eyes tight, bracing for the impending danger.

Time seemed to stand still as you lay there, your breaths shallow and rapid, every nerve on edge.

Still, nothing happened.

Slowly, cautiously, you dared to open your eyes, your vision blurred. As your sight cleared, you found yourself face to face with a familiar shadow.

"William?" you croaked out, your voice raspy from the exertion. William, Alastor's loyal shadow, perked up eagerly at the sound of your voice, its form undulating as it slithered around you, enveloping you in a gentle embrace.

With a weak smile, you raised a trembling hand to pat at the comforting darkness. "Hey, buddy…"

Your attention was abruptly torn away as a red blur darted towards the spot where Vox had been slammed into. Shock seized you, freezing you in place as you watched with wide eyes, feeling your pulse pounding against your chest and skull in a frantic rhythm.

William followed your gaze, his form stiffening as he silently scanned the area for any sign of danger. After a tense minute of no one seen nor heard, he turned back to you, his shadowy head tilting in confusion.

With quivering lips you uttered one name that had explained everything, "Alastor."

.

"Mgh!" Vox grunted as he collided with the wall. The sickening crack tore through his body as he crumpled to the floor amidst a splash of sparking wires, debris, and hanging metal. His systems went haywire, his vision obscured by flashes of glitches and static, each burst of light stabbing into his consciousness like searing knives.

Despite the system failures, Vox couldn't miss the sight of a familiar red-clad demon stalking towards him with a menacing grin etched on his face.

"You..."

Struggling to move, the overlord felt his arm pinned under debris, the weight pressing down on him like a vise, squeezing the air from his lungs. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he sucked in a breath. Each inhale felt like fire scorching his insides.

Finding the leverage, with closed eyes and clenched fists, Vox braced himself and pushed with one hand while the other pulled, every movement sending waves of torment shooting through his body like bolts of lightning.

There was a sickening crack, the sound drowned out by the deafening roar of static and electricity that erupted from him. His back arched involuntarily, nerves and sinew spasming, his body instinctively attempting to curl in on itself to shield against the onslaught of pain as he ripped his arm off. Opening his mouth to scream, Vox found no voice escaping, only a glitched, distorted wheeze.

"My, my," Alastor chuckled, his voice dripping with sadistic amusement as he watched Vox dry-heave from the pain, relishing every moment of his torment. "Good show! Ho-ho! It's always such a thrill to witness your suffering."

"Wh-Wh-What the fuck do you want, old man?" Vox's voice glitched out as he shakily got to his knees, beads of water dripping and soaking through his suit, mingling with the blood and grime that coated his skin. The stench of metallic decay hung heavy in the air, mixed with the acrid scent of burning wires.

"You've got some nerve coming for me straight at my base," he shouted out, his screen flashing with a fierce red hue. "I've got you at a disadvantage!"

Alastor raised a brow in mocking surprise, twisting his head side to side to survey the torn-up tower with exaggerated interest. "Who's at a disadvantage?" he quipped with a shrug, his tone laced with derision as he gestured casually at the chaos surrounding them.

"I'm not the one on my knees, old pal," Alastor mused, his tongue dripping with sinister amusement as he tapped his staff against the flooded floors, the sound echoing. In one, swift motion, a shadow shot out, piercing Vox's shoulder and pinning him back against the wall, the tendrils coiling around him like a vice.

"Fuck you!" Vox hissed, his anger boiling over as he shot out wires of his own. Alastor made no attempt to dodge, staying put as the wires struck through his shoulder, flesh and muscle spraying out in a grisly display. Despite the gruesome injury, Alastor seemed unfazed, tilting his head with an audible crack, his grin widening into something unsettling.

"Sloppy," Alastor spat, blood trickling down the side of his mouth and dripping down his chin. With deliberate slowness, he raised a hand to grasp at the wires, his fingers curling around them with a sickening creak as he pulled them out.

"What the fuck are you even here for?!" Vox screamed.

"Funny you should ask," Alastor mused, his empty gaze boring into Vox's screen. Shadows wrapped around his injured shoulder, forming a makeshift bandage, while his other tendrils reached out, snaking towards Vox's ankles and forcibly dragging him forward. The demon fell onto his back, briefly submerged in the water as he was pulled towards Alastor.

Humming, Alastor slammed his foot down on Vox's torn arm, eliciting a scream of pain as sparks shot out. Chuckling, the Radio Delon hand came down hard, driving Vox's own wire into his eye with a sickening crack, causing the screen to fracture in a spiderweb of cracks.

"I'm here for my wife."

"Wife?" Vox narrowed his eye at Alastor in confusion for a moment, his screen flashing with red, blue, and yellow hues, before widening in recognition at the sight of a golden glint on Alastor's mangled, clawed hands.

Immediately, he snarled, his voice barely audible over the glitches and static, "I ain't telling you shit."

"Oh," Alastor drawled slowly, twirling his cane in his hands with a devilish grin. "You will."

Alastor moved with startling speed, lunging forward to grasp Vox's arms with his bare hands. With a vicious snarl, he began to tear at Vox's chest cavity, his claws digging into the metal casing with a sickening screech as he began to pull it off. Vox screamed in pain, his systems protesting against the assault, but he fought back, unleashing a flurry of sparks and glitches in a desperate attempt to break free.

"Old piece of shit!" Vox roared, his words dripping with venom as he punctuated them with a furious pound of his fist against the ground. Leaning up, he lunged forward, his hand shooting out to scratch at Alastor's eye with a scream of rage. "Radio's fucking dead!"

"You've got quite the fight in you, don't you?" Alastor's laughter echoed through the room as he jolted back from Vox's retaliatory strike.

With a casual flick of his hand, he wiped the crimson blood from his cheek, strands of his hair falling over the new scar that marred his face. "But I'm afraid spirit won't be enough to save your worthless life."

Alastor leaned down, his muscles tensing as his fist crashed into Vox's broken eye with a crack, causing the screen to fracture further. Lifting Vox by his collar, Alastor brought him closer to his face with a snarl.

"Radio killed the video star."

Alastor's tendrils coiled like vipers ready to strike, but before he could unleash them, a sudden crash of debris behind him jolted his attention. With a swift twist of his head, he peered over his shoulder.

Against the backdrop of the dark brick wall loomed a disheveled figure, her rosy cheeks and tousled hair framing her big, doll-like eyes. The shimmering of a necklace with a delicate rose pendant around her neck caught his attention, and in an instant, he recognized you.

Your hand pressed firmly against the wall for balance, while his shadow, William, enveloped your waist, supporting your weight. The fabric of your dress clung to your drenched skin, torn in parts, with one heel missing from your sprained foot. Streaks of makeup ran down your face, smudged by tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. You sniffled, your face flushed with warmth as a burning pain spread to your throat, choking back every sob that threatened to escape.

"Al…"

Alastor didn't know what to do with himself.

Every muscle in his body tensed, locking him in place as if he were frozen in time. In his shock, Vox slipped from his grip, crashing to the ground in a heap of metallic clangs and crackling wires.

With cautious steps, he stepped forward, testing the waters, metaphorically and literally. To his surprise, there was no barrier, no force pushing him back, and no contract manifesting before him.

"Cher?" he called out, breathless.

The sobbing wail that escaped your lips was answer enough.

Heart pounding in his chest, Alastor rushed forward and caught you in a desperate hug. His arms enveloped your trembling form tightly, as if he could shield you from the world's horrors just by holding you close. You sobbed against him, your nails digging into his shoulders, your body going limp like a puppet whose strings had just been cut. His hand flew up to cradle the back of your head, his touch both tender and urgent, his claws grazing your skin slightly in his desperation.

The smile on his face long dropped. His muscles tensed as he whispered your name over and over again like a mantra, each repetition a plea to whatever higher power might be listening.

For the first time in decades, Alastor felt fear grip his heart in its grimy claws. His eyes remained wide open, unblinking, as if he feared that closing them would make you vanish before his very eyes.

"Mon cœur," you heard the dark timbre in his voice, the faint crackle of radio static lingering in the air. Your husband drew his head back, and you winced at the loss of touch, but he immediately dove back in, pressing his lips against yours in a long overdue kiss. The taste of his metallic blood flooded your mouth, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

Sighing against his lips, you tilted your head and pressed yourself further against him and Alastor grunted in response, his clawed hands mapping up the curve of your hips and moving up to your chest, pressing his palm flat against your heart to feel its steady rhythm. It beat for him, raced and throbbed because of him

You trembled beneath his touch, more tears slipping from your eyes, dribbling down your cheeks.

"That’s it, cher," he hushed. "My sweet girl. You’re alright. Everything’s going to be alright."

His hand reached out, cupping both of yours firmly, causing your rings to clink together. His thumb gently traced over the back of your right hand, caressing the golden band.

Alastor paused, his fingertips gliding over the unfamiliar texture of an engraving on the ring, a curious furrow creasing his brow as he moved back in to examine your hands. You hesitantly allowed his inspection, silently noting the subtle twitches on his blank expression.

Despite the tenderness of his touch, Alastor's face remained devoid of his usual smile. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, silently asking for an explanation, and you answered the unspoken question immediately.

"Vox."

With just one word, Alastor immediately understood. A fleeting smile graced his lips as he pressed a final tender kiss to both of your eyelids before his grin returned in full force. he snapped his head back to face Vox, holding you close in his arms, supporting your weight due to your broken ankle. "It seems we have some unfinished business."

"Yeah, we fucking do," a new voice interjected, causing both you and Alastor to whirl around.

Velvette and Valentino made their presence known as they stood stoically by the entrance, their disheveled appearances and visible injuries painting a picture of the struggle that had unfolded. Every bruise, every torn piece of clothing seemed to speak on its own of the relentless assault Alastor had unleashed upon the building. It was clear that they had endured their fair share of the battle.

"Come."

Velvette reached her hand out, and you felt an odd sensation of tugging at your neck. Suddenly, a hot pink collar materialized around you, and before you could react, you were forcefully pulled forward with a sharp yank. The sudden movement caused you to stumble several feet, your injured ankle buckling beneath you with a jolt. A scream ripped from your throat, the intensity of the pain washing your vision with a blaring flash of white.

Valentino immediately grabbed you by the hair, wrenching you up as though you were nothing more than a prize to be claimed. "You want her? Well, we're going to have to make a deal," he taunted.

Something primal gnawed and snarled at Alastor's insides. Even in the brief seconds since you were torn away from him, the ache for your presence already began to consume him, searing through his veins like a wildfire. It cut him deeper than any of the physical wounds he received. He had just gotten you, and now you were being torn away from him once more.

He wanted to scream, to tear at his own flesh in anguish, to rip through the barriers separating him from you until he could hold you close once more.

And if he had to paint the sidewalks of hell with the blood of these vermin to achieve that, then he would stop at nothing to see it through.

"There's not going to be a deal. I doubt anything you can offer would be of any value," Alastor's grin twisted into a snarl, his eyes flashing red. With a swift motion, he slammed his staff against the floor, unleashing a blare of crackling energy and swirling shadows into the air. "I'm going to end your fucking lives."

"Ay, calm down," Valentino snarled, his voice dripping with menace as he spread his wings, casting a shadow over the room. Dipping a hand into his coat pocket, he drew his gun and pressed it tight against your temple, the cold metal sending a shiver down your spine. Sweat beaded on your forehead as the searing burn of the barrel pressed against your skin, a silent threat hanging in the air.

You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt Valentino's thumb run across your cheek, the demon cooing at you as if you were a child. Blinking away the tears, you opened your eyes to find Alastor's figure standing out vividly amidst the chaos, his red suit and hair glowing like fire against the darkness.

Like blood.

Alastor's entire body practically shook with anger, the shadows in the corners of the room writhing and twisting.

Their tainted blood should never dare to soil your skin, nor should the gaze of these wretches ever dare to tarnish your beautiful visage. In his eyes, you were pure and untainted, and above all, you belonged to him.

Only him.

"Now," Valentino chuckled, a twisted smile playing on his lips as he reached out to pet your head with a hand, his fingernails sharp and threatening. "It's really not worth the trouble. So why don't you stop this tantrum, grab your little bitch, and get out? She's not this fucking valuable to us."

"D-D-D-Don't!" Vox's voice crackled from his spot on the floor, his one functional arm trembling as he struggled to rise.

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Velvette scowled, her nails digging into the fabric of her torn dress as she hurled your contract towards Alastor with a vicious flick of her wrist. "Do we have a fucking deal?"

Alastor's hand shot out, snatching the contract mid-air before it could reach the ground. Holding it aloft, he tore it apart with a savage rip, the sound of paper shredding echoing like thunder through the room.

"Deal."

Instantly, the chains restraining you dissolved, and Valentino moved away from you. You felt a gentle tug as Alastor's swirling shadows guided you towards him. His arm enveloped you protectively, pulling you close as if shielding you from any further harm. His wide-eyed gaze remained fixed on Velvette and Valentino, a silent warning in his stance.

"I'll make sure you regret ever crossing us," Alastor declared with a menacing growl, summoning a swirling portal of shadows behind him as he slowly backed away, pulling you along with him. Before departing, he deftly removed your engraved ring from your finger and tossed it in Vox's direction.

"Radio isn't dead," Alastor snarked as the shadowed portals began to envelop you both, their inky tendrils curling around you like a shroud, "but this broadcast is coming to an end."

With that, you and Alastor vanished into the swirling shadows, leaving the three figures standing amidst the aftermath.

The building lay in ruins, reduced to disrepair. Water trickled down from the shattered remnants of the aquarium, its glass now fractured and broken, mingling with the thick dust that hung in the air like a shroud. From top to bottom, no room was left untouched by the devastation wrought on by the Radio Demon.

Velvette stood rigid in the center of the room, her figure shadowed as she bore her intense gaze into Vox. The TV demon scoffed dismissively, his broken screen flickering erratically, casting disjointed shadows across the room.

"I'm killing her," Velvette declared.

"Who?" Vox croaked, doing his best to sit up as Valentino helped him to his feet.

Velvette clenched her teeth, her frustration boiling over as she stepped forward and forcefully slammed her heels down on Vox's legs, sending him slamming back down, the sound echoing in the room. She spat in his fractured screen, her voice dripping with venom.

"I'M FUCKING KILLING HER!"

.

"Don'tcha worry about a thing, sweetheart!" Mimzy chirped cheerfully, her voice ringing out above the din of the crowded bar. Balancing a huge stack of beer in her arms, she maneuvered skillfully through the maze of tables, dodging patrons and obstacles with ease. The dim lights of the bar reflected off the bottles, casting shimmering patterns across the worn wooden surface, while the faint scent of alcohol lingered in the air, mingling with chatter and laughter.

Arriving at the table, a group of men erupted in hollers and cheers. Mimzy giggled in response, her laughter joining the chorus of noise as she shot a playful wink in their direction. With a bit too much force, she shoved the tray onto the table, causing the overflowing glasses to slosh and liquor to spill onto the tabletop.

"Enjoy!"

With a toss of her hair, she sauntered away, her heels echoing against the wooden floorboards as she made her way towards the entrance. The club was delightfully full tonight, and Mimzy could practically taste the mouthwatering green of money already.

But just as she reached the doorway, a hand grabbed her, yanking her out into the darkness beyond. The blonde's cheery demeanor disappeared in an instant as she found herself shoved up against a nearby wall.

The cold grime and mysterious mold clinging to the brick surface sent a shiver down her spine, the dampness seeping through her clothes and chilling her to the bone. The dim light from the bar seemed to fade into obscurity as the darkness of the alley enveloped her, suffocating her senses. Panic surged within her as she struggled against her assailant.

"Hey! What gives—" Mimzy began, but her words caught in her throat as she realized she was face to face with Velvette. The overlord looked disoriented and disheveled in the dimly lit alleyway, her clothes torn and her hair in disarray. Her eyes, usually sharp and calculating, now held a wild, frenzied glint.

"There you are," Velvette's grip on Mimzy's dress tightened, her nails digging deep into the fabric and piercing skin, sending a sharp twinge of pain through the blonde. "I've been looking for you."

The blonde recoiled as Velvette's claws trailed up her throat, leaving a trail of stinging scratches in their wake. The metallic smell of blood flooded her nose as one of Velvette's nails grazed over her skin, catching on the delicate chain of her necklace and tugging it slightly.

With a trembling voice, Mimzy managed to choke out, "Oh! W-What do you need me for, sugar?"

Velvette's lips curled into a sinister smile, the glint of her sharp teeth shining under the alley lights.

"Oh, just a little chat," she replied, her voice dripping with malice. "Aren't you curious about what's been happening in your absence? Some skeletons in a closet got dug up."

The blonde's eyes widened, her heart pounding in her chest as she realized the gig was up.

"I didn't—!" she started, but her protest was cut short by the sickening thud of Velvette's fist against the wall beside her. Cracks spiderwebbed across the brickwork, the crumbling debris cascading to the ground in a cloud of dust.

"Don't lie to me," Velvette hissed, as she leaned down to the blondes height, meeting her face to face. "You knew who she was. And you helped him."

"I-I didn't know," Mimzy lied straight through her teeth, trembling in her heels. "I swear, Velvette. I didn't know anything about his wife."

"Don't play dumb with me, bitch. You knew full well who she was," the overlord snarled.

With a derisive laugh, she threw her head back and added, "But you couldn't even keep it under wraps! You got fucking ratted out in less than 2 days!"

"No! No, I swear on my life, sugar!" Mimzy pleaded, her voice trembling as she shook her head, her golden curls bouncing around her shoulders. "I was just a stray bullet!"

But Velvette's expression remained cold and unforgiving, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"You fucking liar," she spat, her voice dripping with venom.

A flash of silver caught Mimzy's eye, and she flinched as she saw the dagger in Velvette's hand. The cold metal glinted with a blue glow in the dim light of the alley, its edges sharp and sleek.

It was angelic iron, and the very sight of it sent bile rushing up her throat.

It hurt her eyes to look at the dagger, its presence filling her with a sense of dread she couldn't shake. But despite the fear coursing through her veins, she couldn’t tear her gaze away. She was frozen in place, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

But then, there was a sudden blur of movement.

"Wait!"

A sharp, searing pain shot through Mimzy, causing her to gasp. The sensation of blood trickling down her skin sent waves of nausea through her, and she dry heaved, struggling to keep herself upright.

Her eyes remained locked on the smeared blood on the steel lodged in her, the sight both horrifying and mesmerizing. It was so revolting, so surreal, that she failed to suppress a shudder of dread as she stared at it, transfixed by the grim reality of her impending fate.

Coldness began to envelop her, seeping into her bones as the darkness closed in around her like a suffocating cloak. Dark spots danced at the edges of her vision as the edges of her consciousness blurred and faded. She felt herself slipping away, consumed by the shadows, as the alleyway swallowed her whole.

Velvette let the body drop, the dull thud echoing in the desolate alleyway. A twisted feeling of satisfaction flooded her veins, coursing through her with a sickening thrill.

The harsh glow of the streetlights cast eerie shadows across her features as she surveyed the aftermath of her actions. With a flick of her head, she turned away from the lifeless form, her cracked heels echoing against the cold pavement as she disappeared into the darkness, leaving behind a trail of crimson steps in her wake.

"And so it begins."

.

[sanguineterrain]

restroom attendant | jason todd

Summary: Tonight is the worst night ever--you just got dumped on your birthday, and all you want to do is cry in the restaurant bathroom in peace. That is, until, the Red Hood bursts in. This city just won't cut you a break.

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!reader 

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings/tags: humor, mild angst, reader's ex-bf cheats and dumps her, jason is such a silly goose, flirting, meet ugly, canon-typical violence, awkward jason, comic relief dick grayson.

A/N: this is probably the silliest fic i've ever written LOL! i hope you guys enjoy it. please support your local jason todd enthusiast and reblog :)

the divider

Tonight sucks. 

With a shaky hand, you attempt to soothe your swollen eyes. You’ve probably been in here for about twenty minutes. Your Uber has definitely left, as has your now ex-boyfriend of three years. 

Yoga instructor. It’s always the yoga instructor. They’re always fucking the yoga instructor.

You swallow a mouthful of tears and phlegm and try not to let the wet sink touch your dress. All you’d wanted was a little class on your birthday, maybe have some wine and play footsie under the table with your boyfriend. But no. That would’ve been too easy for you. 

You’re starting to think this city is cursed.

The door slams open. The force of it shakes the bathroom, rattles the mirrors. You spin around.

A man slides across the floor and smacks his head on the opposite wall. Red Hood appears in the doorway, the eyes of his helmet glowing eerily. 

Yep. Definitely cursed.

"Let's try this again," Hood says pleasantly, reloading his gun with a fresh magazine. "And in the interest of making myself transparent: when I ask you a question, Jerry, I expect a truthful answer."

He stalks over to Jerry and heaves him up by the lapels of his suit jacket. Hood's biceps bulge as he holds Jerry against the wall. You squish yourself against the sink. Water soaks the back of your dress. 

"You're crazy, I didn't do anything!" Jerry shouts, feet barely scraping the floor. 

"Volume, Jerry. People are trying to enjoy their meals.”

“Let go of me, Hood! I wasn’t anywhere near the Iceberg Lounge!”

“Yeah, see, words are coming outta your mouth, but they don't match the fact that I have three people who put you at the scene. How can we remedy this inconsistency? Any ideas?"

Jerry squirms, but he's no match for Hood's strength. Your heart pounds in your chest.

"Don't give me to the cops!" Jerry begs. 

"Cops are the least of your worries right now," Hood snarls. "You're damn lucky Nightwing wants to talk to you, Jerry, or your head would hurt a lot more."

Slowly, you reach for your purse, trying to pull out your phone. Instead, you knock it to the floor. Tears gather in your eyes because this night just can’t cut you a break.

“Motherfucker,” you whisper. 

Hood turns, those frightening white eyes now on you. Jerry also looks at you, legs still dangling.

“Hey,” Hood says without a sign of struggle. “Shit. Y'alright? Did I swipe ya?”

“No,” you say, voice shaky.

His posture softens. “Okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. Don’t be afraid.”

“I believe you. But, um… you're in the women's bathroom.”

Red Hood gives the room a onceover. 

“Huh. So we are. Dunno how that happened.” He shakes Jerry by the collar. “Why’d you run into the women’s bathroom, asshole?”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Don't kill me!” Jerry wails. 

“Shut it, Jesus. I'm not gonna kill you. Not yet, anyway.” 

“It's fine, I was just leaving,” you say, bending down to get your purse. 

“Hey, no, don't let me push you out,” Hood says. “Sorry. I'll be gone in a couple minutes.”

Hood adjusts his grip so Jerry's face is against the wall, arms and legs restrained. Then he zipties Jerry and sits him down hard on the floor. Hood presses a button on his helmet. 

“Yo, N, I'm at Prescott's. Yeah, with Jerry. No, I didn't tell him to run in here, he did that all on his own! Well, I chased him for ten blocks, so I’d prefer if you’d keep your bitching to yourself. Thank you… Okay, we're in the women's bathroom, so—well, I didn't do it on purpose! No, I’m—will you just come here? There’s a side window.” Hood presses the button again with a grunt. “Dickhead.”

“Are you gonna erase my memory?” you ask. 

Hood jerks, turning back to you.

“What? Hell no, I'm not gonna erase your memory. I don't do that shit, I promise.”

You slump against the sink. “That's too bad. I would prefer it.”

He looks up from Jerry’s last ziptie and pulls it extra tight. Jerry whimpers. 

“How come?” Hood asks.

You shake your head. “It's nothing.”

“Hm. Doesn't look like nothing. If you're in danger—”

“I'm not in danger. I…”

You glance at Hood. You can't see his face, but his body language seems genuine. From what you've heard, Hood isn't known for mincing words or doing things he doesn't want to. And he’s good to Gothamites. Well, the law-abiding ones, anyway. He’s even been endorsed by Batman.

What's the harm in telling him about your disastrous night? Not like you'll see him again. Or Jerry. 

“I got dumped,” you say. 

“Ah.” Hood nods. “Been there.”

Somehow, the idea of Red Hood getting dumped is weirder than him beating up a guy in the women’s bathroom of Prescott’s.

You sniffle, and wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. 

“Yeah, um. It was our three year anniversary today. He took me here, told me he was in love with his yoga instructor, and then left.”

You tear up thinking about it. Hood makes a quiet noise.

“Shit. Well, I haven't been there,” he says. “But I know infidelity. I'm sorry. Dudes are trash.”

“And it's my birthday today,” you blurt, sniffling. 

“Happy birthday,” Jerry says, clutching his stomach. 

“What a fucking asshole!” Hood snarls, and lets go of Jerry, who crumples like a sack of potatoes. He’s out cold in a second, frozen on the floor.

Your brows rise. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. It’s his first time in Gotham.” Hood shrugs. “Anyway, where was I? Right, your asshole ex. Like it's not enough to publicly dump you, and then he goes and does it on your birthday? Who is this guy? I'll go talk to him right now.”

You laugh a loud, snorting laugh. It bounces off the tiles. 

Hood tilts his head. “What’d I say?”

You catch your breath and wave your hand. 

“No, nothing, I’m sorry. I’ve just had a crappy night and that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever offered to me.”

“I mean it,” Hood says. “I’ll scare him if you want.”

“As tempting as that is, I don’t want to be an accessory to a crime.”

You also don’t want to put your ex in the ICU, no matter how much he might deserve it. Best to let the universe do its thing.

“You’d be acquitted, don’t worry.” Hood leans against the stall. “I’d never letcha go to jail.”

You smile, your ears growing warm. “You don’t even know me. What if I deserve it?”

“Nah. I got a good sense about people. I can tell you’re sweet. Probably don’t even run through red lights.”

“I try not to,” you say, heat spreading to your face. 

“Yeah, a good girl. I figured as much.”

Your eyes widen. Hood coughs and rubs his neck. Even his coughs sound intimidating through the helmet, but that’s negated by his scrunched-up posture.

“Fuck. Sorry. That wasn’t a come-on,” he says. “I mean, it sounded like one, but I’m realizing what a creep I am, flirting with you in a bathroom with a zip-tied criminal. Sorry.” He shakes his head. “I hate myself.”

You grin. “It’s okay. You made my night better, actually. Thanks.”

“That’s a testament to how terrible your night’s been if I made it better.”

You shrug. “Could always be worse. I bet Jerry had an even shittier night than me.”

“You’d win that bet. But I—”

The window swings open with a clunk. Nightwing pops his head in. He looks at Hood, then you. 

“Uh,” he says. “Evening. What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is it took you almost ten minutes to get here,” Hood says, back in Vigilante Mode. “Did you get lost?”

Nightwing smiles with all his teeth. “I was actually cleaning up your mess at the Bowery, Hood. You’re welcome.” 

He looks at you. “Hi. Sorry about this. I hope we didn’t ruin your night. If there’s anything we can reimburse you for…”

You shake your head. “It’s okay. My night was already sunk. Don’t worry about it. Thanks for keeping Gotham safe.”

Nightwing laughs. “The pleasure is ours.”

“Alright, enough chattering, Dickwing,” Hood says. “Take him.”

He lifts the unconscious Jerry, pushing him up to the window. He does so effortlessly, his jacket riding up to reveal his skin-tight jumpsuit. 

You look away before he catches you staring. There’s definitely something wrong with you. 

Nightwing takes Jerry and waves at you. Then he disappears.

“So, uh,” Hood says. “I gotta go.”

“Oh! Right, of course. Sorry to keep you.”

“Now what’re you apologizing for?” he asks, and it almost sounds like a tease. You wonder what his smile looks like. What color his eyes are.

“Well, I really didn’t mean to keep you…”

“You didn’t keep me,” Hood says, and you can hear the warmth even through his decoder. “This is probably the best arrest I’ve ever made.”

He starts to climb through the window, then stops. He digs into one of the pockets of his belt and pulls out a scrap of paper. 

“This is my number,” he says. “Well, it’s kind of the vigilante hotline. But you can reach me here, in case you ever need help.”

Hood walks over to give it to you. He smells like gunpowder and oranges. He’s even larger this close, the width of his shoulders dwarfing you. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. 

He nods and backs up, clapping his hands.

“Right. So I’ll go… Bye.”

Hood looks at you for a moment more. Then he hops up onto the window sill and slides out, somehow graceful despite his bulk. The window closes. 

Your dress has dried, which is nice. You walk out of the bathroom. It’s a miracle no one else has come in. 

You get your coat and this time, when you see the empty seat across from yours, you don’t burst into tears, which is progress. You call another Uber and go to wait for it at the front. The hostess approaches you.

“Ma’am?” she says, and holds out a small, plastic container. In it is a slice of tiramisu. 

“I didn’t order this,” you say.

“It was called in and paid for by a Mr. R.H. He wishes you a happy birthday.” 

“Oh. Thank you.”

You’re definitely leaving a five-star review on Yelp.

[the-kr8tor]

What is Normal for the Spider is Chaos to the Fly

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 8.7 k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader, CW violence and gore, CW blood, TW death, CW guns, CW food mention.

Our Place in the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

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CHAPTER 3 >>> CHAPTER 4

Eyes closed, you breathe in the fresh spring breeze, the first of many this season. Pollen makes your nose itch, bees buzz around the field of flowers, yellow dots kissing the soft petals. A babbling brook sits near you, perfect spherical rocks worn down by the waters makes you want to skip them across the transparent clean water where fish lie and swim right under the currents.

The bright sun above shines down on you, its light fighting through your eyelids and through the canopy of the oak tree. Its strong trunk provides the perfect back rest, the wood is stable and protective of your relaxed form. Like the softest carpet, the green grass below is splayed under you. Blades of grass and wildflowers swaying amidst the wind just like how your lashes flutter with every soft blow of the cool air.

“Why'd you stop?” Hobie asks from below. You crack open your eyes to see his lopsided smile, jade eyes crinkling in the corners. His head is resting on your lap, fingers absentmindedly playing a tune on the beaten up guitar on his chest. There's flowers in his hair, courtesy of you. “C’mon, lovie, I was just starting to fall asleep.”

You chuckle, and he smiles wider. The sun bathes you in its glow, a halo of light around your head, a heavenly sight for a mere mortal. “You're spoiled you know.” You realize your fingers are in his hair, soft fingertips paused on his skin. Your vision goes blurry, with a blink, everything shifts back. “So spoiled.”

“Says the one who was born with a silver spoon in her mouth.” He says it with no ounce of malice.

“How'd you know about spoony?” You joke, he laughs, a sound better than anything you've ever heard of. “How was work?”

“Lonesome, you didn't come by.” You tilt your head, lips pursing into a soft smile. “Do I still smell like gunpowder to you?”

“No, you smell like flowers.”

“Is it too late to say that I'm allergic to ‘em?”

You giggle, “No you're not. You haven't even sneezed.” Grabbing a daisy from his hair to wiggle it under his nose, his face scrunches up comedically, and then he fakes a sneeze. The loudness of it startles the birds nesting by the branches, wings fluttering rapidly further away.

“Good job, you scared the birds.” You look down at him, hand inching closer to the daisy ring you've made a while ago.

“What? I can't sneeze?” His eyes are glued to you, the sun paints a pretty picture of his viridescent eyes shining in the light.

With a deep inhale, you take his hand away from the guitar, slipping the flower ring you've been itching to place on his finger. Hobie seems to freeze up either in your touch or the sight of the makeshift ring. You show him your hand, an identical white flower whose stems are wrapped gingerly around your middle finger.

“Ta dah.” You say shyly. The tightness around your chest clenches at his silence. “I'll take it off, I'm sorry. I thought—”

Hobie quickly reaches up to shield the ring away from you, “No, don't—it’s brilliant. Thank you.” You beam at him as he intertwines his fingers around your own, the rings in full display. “Suits me, I think. But it looks better on you.” You inhale, the comfortable warmth is replaced by icy air. Everything shifts.

The breeze is colder now, the grass is frozen under your feet, frost clinging to each blade. The canopy is no more, only dark angled branches with tiny leaves hang off the precious oak tree. A puff of smoke billows out of your dry lips, Hobie hugs you closer, hand rubbing up and down your arm, body heat shielding you from frost bite.

“Cold?”

“Yes, very.” You shiver, and he holds you closer. “This sunset better be worth it, Hobie, I had to put down a really good botanical book for this.” You say, cheek pressed atop his chest, breath warming his neck. You'd choose him over any book.

“First sunset of the season, love. It's worth it, I promise.” Without a second thought, he takes his coat off to place it over your shivering shoulders. You huddle closer, wrapping yourself around him. Sharing your warmth.

Blue slowly ebbs away as he pulls you closer. The clouds part ways for red and orange, pink splashes across the sky, a watercolour painting that leaves you gasping for air. Or was it his lips upon yours for the first time that has you heaving for air?

Hobie kisses you with the gentleness only a lover could provide, yet with the tentativeness of someone who isn't sure you'd kiss back. The pads of his fingers brush along your jaw, ghosting over your flustered flesh. With a sigh and a pull on his jacket collar, you kiss back. Lips pecking the corner of his own, clouds of smoke mixing in, hands warm on your searing cheeks— he slowly leads you towards the same oak tree. Your back hits the wood with an almost silent thump, his hand protecting the back of your head. Eyes closed, you memorize his lips by kiss alone. Your hands knead at his nape, he shivers not from the cold.

“I'm in love with you.” He says it confidently, like he's been saying it to himself for years. He feels like he has.

“I've been waiting to hear you say that.” Your eyes meet his own in a dance. Eyes flicking down to his lips, jade eyes looking between your blown out eyes and your quivering lips. “I've been in love with you. For a really long time.” You feel his lips open, mouthing the three words back against your own. It's barely above a whisper but you know that he'll scream it if you asked.

A flash of his warm hands around your own, a glimpse of a knife carving yours and his initials on the wood that you both call home. A muffled promise lingers in your ears, soft, just like his lips on yours.

You open your eyes and you see him above you. Hobie pinches your nose with a laugh, calloused fingertips squeezing lovingly at you, emerald eyes swimming with affection. The warm air passes by, humidity stuck in your nose. The sweat of your brow is quickly wiped away by him.

“Stop sayin' that, yeah?” You don't remember what you said. “You're bloody gorgeous, she doesn't know real beauty even if it hits her powdered arse.”

“Hobie!” You laugh, hands planted on his hips, the fabric of his shirt is hitched up for easy access. “She's still my aunt, and my legal guardian.”

“Unfortunately.”

Your smile agrees with him, but if you say it out loud you're afraid that the ground will swallow you alive and Hobie will be ripped away from you.

“It's a nice day today, you plannin’ on gropin’ me the whole afternoon?”

“Yep!” You look down at where his hands are placed, palms cupping you right above your ribs. “You planning on doing the same to me?”

“Say otherwise and I'll take my hands away from you—”

“No!” You say quickly before he could finish.

Hobie guffaws loudly, face leaning closer to yours. You close your eyes, expecting the expected. Instead, his head falls on the crook of your neck, blowing warm air into your skin.

Your laughs echoes around the clearing, fading into the sound of leaves crunching under your footsteps.

Orange leaves fall down on you like rain, a puff of breeze settles in your muscles, rattling your bones. Despite the cold, you inch your way closer to him, his smile beckons you over, grassy spring coloured eyes lighting up at the mere sight of you. His back resting on the strong oak tree that carries both your names.

“You know, we could always meet up at your place now that you're the up and coming associate.” You hold your hand out towards him, his fingers slide on your palm so naturally that you think you're made for eachother. “We can stop sneaking around now thanks to you.”

Hobie feels like he can finally breathe once he has his hands on you. He twists your wrist gently, leaning down, he presses a quick kiss on your pulse, eyes meeting your own. Years of being together, and he still makes your heart race.

Warm lips on your skin, he pecks it again for good measure before leaning away and pulling you closer. His hands are around your hip, while you wrap yours over his shoulders. “We could. But even after all my hard work, your aunt still doesn't—won't approve of us together. I'm me and you're you, love. What would they say when they see their heiress skulkin’ around the harbour, hm?”

“They won't say anything because I'm good at skulking around.”

“Or they'd say you're hurtin' your prospects of a good husband.”

“Fuck them! You and my garden are all I need.”

He calls your name solemnly, “we have to face the fact that—”

“What? That I'll be stuck in a loveless marriage in the near future?” You shake your head. “I refuse.” A humourless laugh breaks through.

“Good thing you said that or this will be awkward.” Hobie takes out a pair of gold rings from his pocket, it shimmers in the sunset, cold metal upon his warm trembling hands. “It took me a hundred days to save up for them, they're scraps from the factory. All melted together to make a pair.”

“Y–you're stealing from us now?” You could barely finish your joking sentence with the sob fighting to escape your throat.

Hobie laughs, a breathy one that has you mentally making up another joke just to hear it again. “Been at it since they hired me.” He hands you one, not sliding it down your finger, no, he places it right in the middle of your palm. “Remember those daisy rings you made years ago?” You nod, eyes brimming with tears. “I've made ‘em real this time. But the next one would be pure gold, none of the mixed ones I've melted with it.” He bounces on the balls of his feet as you glance at the gold ring that is a hodgepodge of different shades of yellow gold. Some seem to be darker, some lighter. “You deserve real ones.”

“You could make me a ring out of grass and wood, and I'll still wear it everyday.” Taking the ring, you slide it into your middle finger, a promise, he says in your ears, a promise, you repeat against his lips as you slip his own ring around his finger. A promise you both carved out into the tree and into your hearts, a promise that you'd carve out into your skin if you could.

The smell of burning wood wakes you up with a start, You've woken up with tears trapped in your eyelashes.

Your eyes open to a boiling pot of brown liquid. It's familiar, awfully so that you've hated it, it reminds you of someone you'd rather not remember. Looking up at the sky that is darkened to a pale blue, turning the orange and green plains into its royal colour— The roaring open fire is the only bright thing in sight, a yellow glow amidst all the bitter blue.

The amber flames screams among the dead silence and the vast emptiness, ‘Someone’s here! Someone’s alive over here!’ yet, you don't feel like you are.

You cough from the cold, throat itching from dryness. Lifting your hands up to tug the blanket further up, you now notice the deep crescent moons left on your palms. Some even bled through the night, dried blood decorating the lines on your palms and under your fingernails.

“You're awake. Good.” Hobie's voice hits you like a carriage, sleep ridden mind still hazy. For a second you thought that you're still dreaming of him. But his solid form and smoke from his cigarette resting on a stone says he's real. Your mind can't dream of something so tethered to reality like this. “You want some?” He rattles the now empty tin cup, brown liquid dripping from the rim to the ground below.

“You're offering me a cup?”

He furrows his pierced brows. “‘course, there's plenty.”

“No, thank you. Do you have something to eat instead? Or water?” Sitting up, you wipe the sleep off your eyes. Your joints hurt, stomach gurgling, and ankle aching. You hate it here, he's the only one that's making everything bearable even though he looks like he'd rather be anywhere else than be with you. It still hurts, thinking that he does.

“Yeah.” Standing up with a groan, it seems like sleep didn't agree with him either. There's bags under his eyes, worsened by the shadow from the brim of his hat. Taking something from his pack on Buckeye, who still slumbers quietly, he holds out a canteen and a piece of dried meat wrapped in cloth. “‘ere.” The familiar scar on the back of your hand has him reeling away. He remembers the day you got it, he remembers how his hand trembled as he stitches your hand back together.

“Thank you.” You say, stiffly smiling. He nods, returning back to his seat.

Breakfast went over fast, with dawn turning into morning, and the crisp air warming down, you take the blanket off your shoulders. Bucky trotts on the road, coyotes chirp on your left and a tumbleweed passes by on your right. It feels like you and Hobie are the only people on the road, or even in the whole world.

You clear your throat, attempting to break the quiet after riding for hours in absolute silence. “So…are you an outlaw? A mercenary for hire, or even a trapper?”

“‘m one of those things, yes.”

“So mysterious. You know you're still an open book to me.” Looking over your shoulder, he grabs your chin to make you look away and to keep your eyes on the dirt road. To which you laugh at. “Yep, still an open book.” It's true that you still know him for the man that he was, but there's missing pieces of him in your mind. You intend to dive to find the pieces so you could piece together who he is today. Before you go home, before you part forever again.

“How would you know?” Hobie tamps down a smile even though you won't be able to see it. “Maybe I've changed in those five years.”

“Oh you have.” You'd know. “But I can still see through you. I know you, Hobart Brown. Or did you also change your name too?”

“It's Larry now.”

“You serious?” Looking behind, you see him sporting a smirk. A smile spreads across your lips at his playfulness, a semblance of the Hobie you once knew.

“For example?” He asks, something he might regret. “What do you see through me?”

“Well, you put this big bad façade up because it's what everyone expects you to be. But in truth, it's so you could survive here. I bet it's working well since you're still here breathing.”

“I don't care what anybody thinks, Y/N.”

“I know that too. But you still do it because you don't want them talking to you, coming close to you. I remember how hard it was to even get you to speak to me.”

“I was a kid, we were children, and I was new in town.”

“I got you to talk though. Still proud of myself that I got to see the real you.” You puff out your chest. “This place is just like our old town, you know. Harsher, yes, but this time you don't bother to try, not like last time.” Your voice lowers into a murmur. He knows why he doesn't bother, because there's no one out here that could get him out of his walled up shell just like you did. There's no one like you. “I still know you, after all these years. Even if you think I don't, or at least the version of you that you left me with.” The sky gets darker, grey clouds floating next to white fluffy ones, and you still remember how he held you the first time you shared a bed. “You've changed and I confess that I barely know this side of you. I don't know what happened to you in those five years but could you let me try to get to know you again? Just like last time?”

The clouds above darken his green eyes, something passes by them, something that has his hands gripping tighter around the reins.

“It's goin’ to rain.” Is all he could say. “We should hurry and find shelter, there's a shortcut I know.”

You inhale the sharp familiar smell of petrichor, letting it settle in your lungs, letting it drown you, letting it seep through your skin so you can focus on it rather than the flatness of his voice that lacks what you're used to.

“Sure,” you swallow thickly, nails digging into your hemp bindings instead of your flesh.

Hobie clicks his tongue thrice, a sharp almost whistle, and out runs Bucky faster on the sandy lonesome road. Hooves thudding like the rumble of the heavens above, a lightning storm races behind you, sparks of light flashing and clashing on the mountainous rocks of the west.

“Hold on,” Hobie whispers close to the shell of your ear, goosebumps spreading through you like poison ivy on skin. He leans forward, leather clad body shielding you from the harsh howling winds that approaches quickly. “This storm's comin' in fast.”

Wind whips your cheeks, cool air making you narrow your eyes into slits to protect it from the dusty debris. A silhouette of a person appears at the end of the road, you feel Hobie stiffen up from the suspicious man. Arms cage you in, the mysterious man's shadow gets closer and closer as Bucky whines and halts to a stop. Hobie hides your hands with his own, a small act that brings your mind a minute of peace.

“State your business.” Hobie says in a practiced tone, commanding like the one he used with the man who snatched you.

The old man walks with a twisted cane, a makeshift one made from an old branch. His eyes are dull and almost silver, blue rings around his irises, eyebrows thick and white, beard bushy and hair almost gone. Right behind him lies a dip in the road, a chasm from where you sat, a deep gorge from what you surmise. Right next to the road sits a dingy solemn cabin, roof looking like it's about to collapse under its own weight, hinges creaking, window shutters opening and closing harshly from the wind. A border collie barks at you, mismatched eyes unwavering, warning you of something to come.

“Just ‘ere to warn you, son.” The old stranger trembles, either from the cold or from his bad leg. “Anyone who come ‘ver down that road doesn't come out unscathed.” He wipes his face with the sleeve of his yellowed shirt. “Just tryin' be a good samaritan.”

“Yeah? Penance for the war then?” You give Hobie a look. He glances over to you in return.

“I was on yer side, son. I won't be out ‘ere warnin’ you and the missus if I wasn't now eh?”

“Thank you for the warning.” You pipe up, the brief silence has made the whole situation more awkward. “We'll try another route then—”

“No,” Hobie stands his ground, “just like she said, thank you for the warnin’ but that's the closest route to Strawberry.”

The man takes his hat off even with the intense shaking of his hand. He then places it on his chest like he's already mourning you. “Safe travels. Don't say I didn't warn ya.” With a whistle, the dog runs over to him before helping him walk home.

“Wait!” The man stops in his tracks, even the dog turns around to face you. “A storm's coming, you'll be cold. Here.” Sliding your hands away from Hobie's, you take the blanket from your lap.

“My eyes are bad but do I see you givin' me your coat?” He smiles toothily.

“Y/N—” Hobie warns.

“Yes, but it's a blanket, not a coat.” The man chuckles deeply, cheeks red and warm.

He whistles again, and the dog walks over to you. “Give it ‘ere to ol' Nellie.” The dog wags her tail, tongue lolling.

“Hi, Nellie,” you giggle as you lean down to place the fabric in her mouth. “Take good care of it. Good girl.” Hobie's hand is holding your waist, single handedly preventing you from falling over.

He remembers your kindness, how you don't falter when you see someone you can help. You're unequivocally kindhearted, a stark contrast to himself, and what he has become in those five years he wasn't by your side. He remembers how much he loved and longed for you. He needs to know who sent the letter on his behalf, but it can wait, maybe he'll thank them when he does find them.

You don't notice him look at you with the same expression he had years ago.

With a happy wag of her tail, Nellie skips over to her owner, handing him your blanket. “Thank you, miss, you've got a kind soul.” There's warmth in your chest, nodding towards the man. “You take care now. And you.” He looks over your companion. “Better watch her back and protect her kind soul eh?”

“Get inside, don't want you gettin' my blanket drenched.”

A laugh billows out as he waves you away. Entering his humble abode with a loud bang of his door.

“I think we should listen to him.” You say above the winds.

“We'll be fine,” Hobie's voice is softer. “I've been ‘ere before. Just listen to me, yeah?” He kicks gently, and Bucky takes his cue to run in the same direction again.

“If I listened to you back there then the poor man would've shivered from the cold.”

“And now you'll be the one shivering from the cold.”

“He needed it more than I did.” You almost scoff as you hold on tighter around the horn of the saddle while Bucky trudges downward on the slope and into the gorge.

“Don't expect me to get you a new one.”

Now you scoff. “Then don't.” Yet, your chest clenches from his words.

Buckeye finally slows down halfway through the gorge. Hobie inhales deeply, jade eyes flicking above the rocks. The walls seem to close in on you, fifty foot tall walls of ancient stone looming over you. A stream runs along the path, murky brown water splashing with every movement.

“Why'd you slow down—?” Your eyes widen at the moving figures above. “There's people up there.” You whisper as you watch them observe you. The bows on their back gather your attention, eyes piercing through you than the sharpest of arrows. Hobie suddenly grabs your chin, still gentle but with a sense of urgency this time. He turns your head towards the road, rough leather sliding from your chin to your hands.

“Keep your eyes on the road. And keep your mouth shut.”

“Will they let us pass?”

“Yes.” He says immediately.

“Do you know them?”

“Yes, now keep quiet.” Tipping the brim of hat in respect, you do as you're told. “Or they'll be the one askin' me questions. And we don't have time for friendly banter.”

When he says those words, you hear a whisper of his name from above, then a bout of laughter echoing downwards. Subtly looking over your shoulder, you see him crack a small smile.

You turn back towards the road, a soft morose smile on your lips from how much you've missed from his life. You want to know what happened to him in those five years, to be told stories of his adventures under the campfire. To be part of those stories once more, not whatever you're in with him. An afterthought, a burden.

You're starting to feel all the love he once gave you was just from your mind. Made up by you, dreamt and imagined.

—

The cave you've found shelter in is perfect. It's big enough to house you and Hobie, even Bucky rests inside, dry and happy while his dark eyes follow you— as if trying to keep an eye out for you. The cave protects you from the hammering rain outside and from the lightning that pierces the clouds. You lean on the rocky mouth of the cave, hands reaching outside to cup the rain and feel the sharp water droplets drench your skin. Lifting your head up, you watch the sky. The storm has no end in sight, yet, there’s a bit of light passing through the grey, a ray of sunshine that brings hope, blue peeking in between the dark clouds.

Water splashes against your flesh, cleaning the tiny gashes and dried blood that you're not sure is all from your body. The rope that binds you is soaked, weighing heavy around your wrists like steel bracelets.

Wind howling, lightning cutting through the sky like a bullet through skin— You don't feel his heavy gaze on you.

The roaring fire behind you provides warmth just like the man tending to it. And like the fire he's tending, he realizes that his affection for you still burns him inside out no matter how he tries to snuff it out.

The fire crackles, you watch your shadow dance with the flame's movements. You still don't feel his heavy stare on your back.

With a forced smile, an idea pops in your head. You let the water on your palms fall, flicking away the droplets, making your own patch of rain.

“I've got a proposition.”

“Come eat, smelly” You both speak at the same time, amusement flashes behind his precious emerald eyes that's illuminated by the embers.

"I don't smell." You laugh in between, loving the fact that he seems to be in a better mood. Sniffing at yourself, you scrunch up your nose from the smell. "That much. You're not any better.”

Hobie shakes his head, hiding the curl of his lips with the brim of his hat. He places a can of peaches in your direction. “We'll be in Strawberry by late afternoon. There's an inn there where we can rest and bathe.”

Sitting down next to him but still giving him enough space, you tuck your legs under you, wiggling your hands in front of him.

“Can you untie me now? I'm not going to run, Hobie. Where will I go?”

“Tell me about your so-called proposition.” Hobie raises a brow, teeth biting down and clenched around the leather before fully yanking his glove off. You suddenly feel hot when he unties your hands without another word.

There's no identical ring around his finger. Your happiness is snatched away at the sight of his empty finger. What was once a promise is now gone from his flesh that you used to trace with your own hands.

Clearing your throat, you watch the shadows on the cave walls flicker behind him. “W–we take the scenic route. I want to see the sights the new world has to offer. Before returning.” You don't even want to call it home anymore.

“The new world? You sound like a grandma.”

“You saying ‘state your business’ wasn't any better, grandpa.”

Hobie's eyes meet your own, green eyes aglow. A remnant of the Hobie five years ago. You could get used to this, his warm gaze that soothes you from the inside out, something that you never took for granted before but never thought you'd miss dearly. You welcome it back with open arms. Even if it was brief.

A flash of bright lightning hits outside your cave, startling you, free hand placed on your quaking chest.

“It's just lightning, love.” A freudian slip, a term of endearment that travels you both back in time. Now that he said it once more, he finds that it still fits you like a warm hug on a cold winter's day, or a first kiss, one of many.

Slowly turning your head, your lips tremble, eyes watering from a silent cry. You try to reach for him, but he deflects your touch by twisting around on his seat, taking a swig from his canteen. The only one that he has.

Quietly eating, your insides are yelling for you to hold him close, to be near him, to hug him until the screaming stops. You can't satiate the feeling, it bites at your bones, chewing, eating at you, going hungry, starving. You stand up, leaving the can of peaches on the ground, returning to the mouth of the cave so the feeling will ravage you alone once again like it always has for the past five years. You've survived this long, but there's barely anything left of you now— a husk, barely a speck, so you cry and cry, sobs muffled by the rain.

You don't feel his gaze on you. He feels the same gnawing feeling in his belly, crawling up to his chest, eating what's left of his heart like a vulture that carries all his grief and guilt.

—

You're back on the road again, the ground is wet and muddy. Clay and grass sticking to Bucky's hooves as he trudges along the soil. You purposely don't remind him about the missing rope around your wrist. Loving the freedom the lack of it brings, you brush your fingers through Buckeye’s hair; dark wavy tresses that reminds you of fine silk.

“You take good care of him.”

“You said that already.”

“I know, I'm just saying it again for emphasis. I hope you're taking care of yourself too.”

You feel him shift in his seat, fatigue rattling his bones that's exacerbated by the rocking movement.

“Do you feel alright?” You ask, looking over your shoulder. His eyebrows are furrowed, sweat dribbling from his forehead.

“‘m fine.”

“You don't look fine. Riding bareback this long hurts, we can switch places—”

“It would be better if you had your own horse.” Hobie groans, stretching his shoulders. Buckeye seems to notice the conversation, huffing and staring back at his rider. “‘m not replacing you, Bucky. Not yet anyway.”

The dark horse neighs, a high pitched sound that makes you laugh. “He was not happy with that.”

“He's not happy with anythin'” Hobie shakes his head at the horse, you're amused by the whole situation. “Picky eater, always demanding sugar cubes instead of a carrot or an apple. Fuckin' spoiled.” Bucky neighs again, louder this time, clearly annoyed.

“Just like his rider.” You giggle, Hobie stifles a roll of his eyes, a ghost of a smile on his pierced lips. “Careful with your comments or he might buck you off and have me as his rider instead.”

Hobie's amusement fades, his eyes hardens, a sight that has your heart thrumming loudly, a sight that you're very familiar with back at home.

“I‘m sorry— I–I didn't mean to.” You frantically apologize, shaking your head, hand reaching for his own, palm hovering over his gloves.

“Look ahead.” He gestures forward. “Nothin' to apologize for, love.”

“Are you sure?” You can't seem to slow down your breathing.

Hobie notices, blinking, he tentatively takes your hand in his. Squeezing once, jade eyes searching your hurt face. Guilt passes through him.

He should've come back for you.

“Yes,” he swallows thickly, slowing down Bucky's steps. “Breathe for me, yeah?” You nod, inhaling and exhaling. “Good, keep doin' that.” Inhale, exhale, “atta girl. Now listen to me, I need you to hold on tight, and do what I say.”

“What's wrong?” Did you do something wrong again? You hold on tight just like he asked.

“Eyes up front, sweetheart.” The floodgates open, he can't stop himself from calling you those honeyed names. And you can't stop looking at him. With a gentle hold to your chin, he carefully moves it forward. You see five people waving you over further down the road. They're accompanied by a broken down carriage, three wheels missing, no oxen in sight, just a few horses hitched near them.

They call you over, grinning from ear to ear. “Oh thank God!” You hear them say, their forms getting closer and closer.

“They need help.” You say, Hobie's hand around the reins tightens.

“And we're not goin' to give it to ‘em.”

“What? Why?”

“That's bait, we're not fallin’ for it.” His eyes don't leave the strangers’ hands.

“Bait—? They genuinely look like they need help.”

“We're close to town, and they have horses. They could've gone over there instead of flagging down an armed stranger.”

“I'm not armed.”

“Yes, but I am.” With a swift kick, Hobie guides Buckeye to a mad dash. Your back hits his chest from the sudden momentum. A dull ache on your spine, a tingling sensation on his ribs.

Buckeye passes by the broken carriage, leaving dust in their eyes. “C’mon, Bucky! Get us out of ‘ere, boy!”

Wind in your eyes, you look behind, your heart falls in your stomach when you see them follow immediately on their horses, guns drawn, aiming at Hobie.

“Oh fuck!” A bullet whizzes past your head, missing you by just a few inches. You feel it's hot searing metal fly past, “they're shooting at us! Why the fuck—!”

Hobie twists, with one hand on the reins, and the other on his gun, he shoots down one man with precision. The bullet hits its mark, right in his heart. A fountain of crimson splashes from his wounded body, his feet still strapped in the stirrups, flinging the now lifeless body around like a window shutter in a storm.

Hobie shoots again, a horse falls, another bullet, and one gets iron in their gullet. And another and another, one on the leg and one on the shoulder, but they still ride on. Until Hobie's gun clicks, its chamber now empty, in slow motion, you see the remaining survivors use the opportunity to aim at Hobie's head. With quick thinking, you twist uncomfortably, body stretching behind to grab the hunting rifle strapped on Bucky's back. Within a second, you sit upright with the barrel pointing at them.

Hobie sees it all happen while he frantically reloads. His gun jams from carelessness, heart beating like a snare drum, fingers frantically trying to fix it. The sun is in his eyes as he sees you cock your head over his shoulder, the long barrel of the rifle is placed atop his leather jacket, finger itching to press the trigger.

“Duck.” Your voice is calm as Hobie follows through your command, the firing pin ignites, sparks fly, the smell of gunpowder permeates the air, bullet whizzing and hitting your mark— Right in between the eyes.

Gore explodes from what used to be a head, then a scream from the remaining target. Hobie steers Bucky, whilst you fight. Fight for him, and for yourself.

Pulling the bolt handle, without missing a beat you release the shell with a clink of metal. The remaining man looks at his dead companion in horror, still riding on next to him, now missing a head. Just like they did, you use the opportunity to reload, hand reaching for Hobie's gun belt, taking what you need, reloading with an expert hand. You pull the bolt to place the bullet, pushing it in, you aim once again. At the same time, the man screams, aiming at you. But you're faster.

Inhale. You shoot, hand steady, eyes focused.

A wet squelch can be heard, then a body thuds harshly on the ground as a horse neighs, crying and trotting wildly. You finally exhale. Hobie reins Bucky in, hooves digging in, he stops.

“Holy shit.” Hobie stares at you with a growing smile, cheeks aflame, not from the adrenaline nor the fight. “You can shoot.”

“You taught me.” Your eyes doesn't leave the violence you left behind.

“Yeah, but not like that!” He laughs in disbelief. His heart hammers in his chest, and he remembers all the times he held your hand in his while he teaches you the basics.

“What do you think I've been doing since you left?” You swallow thickly, nerves catching up, hands trembling around the rifle. “My books can only take me so far until I've read the entire library.”

Hobie holds your cheek, face concerned, thumb running along the tear you don't notice slide down your cheek. “Can you look at me, lovie?”

Slowly but surely, you turn your head. “We manufacture guns, Hobie, it's important for me to learn.”

“I know, but shootin’ it at people is different.” He would know, he worked at the same place. “Are you alright?”

“Now you ask me that?” You hand him the rifle, breath shuddering. “Can we go now, please?”

Hobie could only nod, hand itching to hold you again.

—

You finally reach Strawberry, it has a sweet sounding name but it's anything but sweet. The streets are thick with mud, the smell is much better than the other town but it still makes your nose itch. The place is situated on the foot of a mountain, the air is cooler with heavy winds persisting. Rows and rows of establishments lie along the road, a saloon with a balcony on your right, a doctor's office on your left. Convenient, you think.

A brothel sits next to the saloon, women gathered around on the porch, smiling and hollering at the people who pass by. Hobie garners their attention, (who wouldn't be?) despite riding with you on the same horse. He doesn't give them any attention, a disappointment on their part. His eyes are too busy looking over your profile and the inn that's situated on the hill.

You flick your eyes over to him, as if he has a sixth sense, he stares back. “What?”

“Nothing.” You whisper.

Hobie hides a small smile over your shoulder. He stops Buckeye at the front of the inn, hopping off, he hitches his horse first before giving you a hand, surprising you.

Without a second thought, you take his outstretched hand, bare against his leather clad one. You land carefully on the soft ground, cringing at the wet squelch of mud on your shoes.

“I need a bath,” you stomp over towards the porch and out of the mud. Hobie's hand finally leaves your side once you step foot on the steady planks. “And a nice bed.”

“That's why we're ‘ere.” He says while he takes his pack from Bucky's back. Giving the horse a pet and a much deserved sugarcube. He whispers something to the horse, to which Bucky neighs in reply. Stepping on the porch right next to you, the dark horse nods at his rider.

You laugh at them. “What'd you tell him?”

“I promised him a place at the stable so he could get a proper rest. ‘m gonna take him once you're inside.”

“Are you gonna leave me here?” Panic sets in your stomach.

Hobie furrows his brows, “no, ‘course not.” I'd never do that. He thinks, but he already did, years ago. “C’mon.”

Bucky neighs to you this time, tail swishing behind him. “G’night, Buck.” You give him a small wave. “You did a good job today.”

Entering the inn, the smell of pine and something fruity catches your nose. Its walls are all wooden, lined with old photos and animal furs. There's a fireplace in the common area where a couple of people sit and chat by the fire. The place is cozy, it's the first time you feel like you can finally have a nice comfortable place to sleep in since you landed in America.

Hobie knocks on the reception desk, leaning on the table, clearly tired and weary. Whilst you try not to think about what you did earlier, you roam your eyes everywhere in an attempt to push all the thoughts away, to kick the gore you saw, and the act that you've executed far far away from you. Your hand trembles at the sight of a deer head hanging on the wall. Then you remember the man whose head you blasted to pieces. Heart beating faster, breath stuck in your throat, Hobie suddenly takes your hand— squeezing, reminding you to breathe.

Before he could comfort you further, a middle aged man appears behind the desk. Shoulders broad, mustache well maintained and curled at the ends. Blue eyes wide and full of wisdom.

“Welcome to Strawberry inn.” He says in a comfortable yet deep tone. His eyes flick towards your intertwined hands, lips smiling faintly. “The name's Finn, room for one?”

Hobie clears his throat, taking his hand back on his side. “Yes, two beds.”

“Ah, a conservative couple eh?”

“Sure,” Hobie acts, nodding along.

“Name?”

“Larry Smith. And baths for the missus and I.”

Finn nods, showing him a sign on his desk. “three dollars for a regular one, five for a deluxe bath.”

“Deluxe?” You ask, curious.

Hobie beats Finn to the punch by explaining it himself. “It's when a woman helps you scrub down.”

You blink twice in quick succession. “Oh.” Cheeks warm, you awkwardly bounce on your feet. “A–are you going to take the deluxe one, Ho–Larry?”

“I might.” He says with a smirk, eyes shining.

“Okay.” You crane your neck towards Finn, “what's our room number?” Your tone inches towards something that has Hobie amused.

“Uh, three—” You're already snatching the keys from him and then quickly speed walking up the stairs. You turn to the right, Finn calls after you. “Left side, ma’am.” Frustrated, you walk the other way. He then turns towards Hobie with a shake of his head. “Happy wife, happy life, english. Don't tease her like that or you'll end up sleeping in the stables.”

Hobie bites his tongue so he couldn't laugh. “I know that now, thanks, mate.”

—

You feel nice, nicer than you should be after what you did. There's a pebble inside you that keeps growing and growing in the pit of your stomach right next to the boulder that has resided there for years. You have no idea what is, but you want it gone just like how you disappear under the tepid water of the tub.

Hobie has laid out clothes for you, it sits on the chair in the corner. A white work shirt that smells like him and a pair of clean socks. Your skirt hangs on the doorway, days worth of dirt and dust clinging to it. The walls are thin, you hear the hinges squeak in the next room, the arguing couple above; and a child's cry from below. The water laps at your chin, now cold and icy on your slowly freezing skin. Like muscle memory, you hold your hand up, the jagged long scar across the back of your hand has you tracing the remnants of the injury— what he used to do to remind you that he's there, that you're safe. But when he left, when he disappeared into the night, leaving you to the horrid predetermined life, you had to do it yourself. You had to carry yourself everyday with the heavy boulder in your heart, surviving each day without him, hurting, rotting in that damned empty mansion you never asked for.

You thought you could finally take the boulder out of you and place it down once and for all when you saw him. it's still there, weighing you down like a hundred ton steel of grief and longing. You don't resent him for what he did, running away, leaving you when the night before he promised you sweet words, words of freedom, words of an escape. No, you don't hate him. Yes, there's days where you would curse his name, but it never lasts. It never does, even now. You still love him even when he doesn't feel the same way anymore.

Your eyes prick from all the unshed tears, everything makes you cry nowadays, even the old lonesome man you met on the road brought a tear to your melancholy eyes. But you can't seem to find the courage to cry in front of him, to let him see your salty tears flow out of you like a raging river of sorrow. And moreso, you're afraid, afraid of home, afraid of what's waiting for you at the end of the road. Whether it be a coyote with its maw opening to lunge at your neck. Or a rattlesnake ready to strike silently at your open wound.

You're not afraid of him, you're afraid to lose him again to the coyotes and rattlesnakes.

Lifting both hands, you watch the blood that collects within the lines of your palms. Rubies ebbing into your life line, your love lines, and into your death— you'd carry the life you've taken until you're six feet underground, decaying, milky bones turning to dust, food for the worms. And yet, the blood in your hands would stay there, even when your hands are eaten by the soil, brought back to where you once came.

Hobie's right, this place changes you. Molds you into something that can survive its harsh environment, just like the plants you once read about. And just like the coiling vines, the flowers that wait and bite their prey; the leaves that kill when cut— you intend to survive the harshness of it all.

With a deep inhale, you leave the metal tub. Water splashes across the floor as you stand up, the even colder air leaves goosebumps in its wake. You dry yourself and dress like an automaton, movements rigid, eyes blank.

Opening the door with a creak, you're met with Hobie standing in the hallway, just across from you. His hand still lingers around the doorknob, viridescent eyes blinking slowly at you.

For a second that felt like hours, you watched each other. How his eyes flick over your form and over his work shirt that you wear. How water still clings to his chest, soaking parts of his white shirt. And how his finger twitches around the doorknob whilst steam escapes from the slits in the doorway. He observes you with vigilant eyes, how your lips are slightly parted, chest breathing heavily. And how much your legs are begging to run towards him, feet pointed in his direction, heels lifted up slightly, but you don't. You don't run to him, instead, you toss him the keys to the room before he could ask for it himself. He catches it with ease.

“You're closer to the room.” Walking closer, you rub your arms for warmth.

Hobie sniffs, hand wiping a stray droplet from his forehead, pack slung over his shoulder. He unlocks the door that's a few steps away, with a click, he opens it for you.

“You look like you're about to pass out.”

You push past him, trying to smile, but you fail. “I feel like I will in a second—” pausing by the doorway, you sharply inhale. “You asked for two beds right?”

“Yeah— fucker.” Hobie clicks his tongue at the sight of the single bed standing in the room. “I'll go get our rooms changed.”

“I'm fucking tired, Hobs.” You lumber your way towards the inviting bed, too tired to even check the room and its sparse décor. “Complain tomorrow. It's not like we haven't shared a bed before.”

“That was different—”

“How is it any different?” Shucking off your shoes, you blink at him through tired eyes. “It's just sleeping next to each other. We were doing anything but that back then.”

He curses breathlessly under his breath. “Fine, don't hog the blanket.”

“Don't kick in your sleep.” You smile for the first time since you pulled the trigger. Slithering inside the warm covers, you lay your head on the lumpy pillows. Heaven to you after sleeping but nothing on the ground or hay for the past few weeks.

“I don't kick in my sleep.” Hobie does the same, laying next to you, giving you enough space in between. “You're the one who kicks in your sleep. Like a fuckin' donkey.”

You lay on your side, inching closer to him. “Please, I'm more of a mustang, not a donkey.”

“Back then you were more like the rider than a horse.” He jokes with a smug smile across his lips.

Your cheeks are aflame, laugh creeping up your throat. The heaviness in your chest subsides, the blood in your hands thins. “You wanna bet?”

Hobie's joking expression is replaced by something else. Flustered, amused, and a mix of an emotion that he has only felt for you. “Fuckin' hell, love.” He turns away from you, lest he lets his thoughts get to him. “Good night, you fuckin' minx.” He hears you laugh, immediately he wants to turn back around and meet you face to face, just like before. But he doesn't.

You're met with his back. The feeling comes back, like a cockroach that wouldn't die even with how much you try to stomp on it. It was foolish to think that he'd love you forever. It was foolish to think that he'd greet you with open arms after years of being apart. How foolish, they'd always whisper to you, naive, and stupid, always standing on the edge of the crowd, eyes always looking for something, someone. Someone that lays before you now.

“Good night, Hobie.” He mouths your next words like clockwork. “Only dream of good things.” You refrain from doing the next thing, a kiss for sweet dreams, a whisper of the three words to remind him of you in the dreamworld.

Hobie silently wishes you did.

Soon enough, soft snores can be heard from behind him. Peeking over his shoulder, he makes sure you're asleep before quietly standing up. Sheets rustling, he tiptoes over the noisy planks, breathing silent. Hobie takes a chair from the corner, propping it under the doorknob, shaking the chair, he makes sure that it's locked up tightly. He can never be sure with the simple singular lock on the door.

Once he's sure that it will hold up, he takes his gun from the hanging gun belt, checking the chamber, he keeps it on the waistband of his trousers. After checking all the windows and the fireplace, he finally joins you back in bed. Gun placed on the bedside, ready to be used just in case. Laying on his side, he faces you, observing how the moon shines just across your face. You look peaceful, relaxed, and he remembers how much he has missed you. Like an impossible itch. A craving that cannot be satiated. Incurable, until you're within reach.

His tired eyes stare at the glaring scar across the back of your hand. Hobie remembers how you got the scar on your hand, it was warm that day, searing hot whilst you ran into the woods frantically to meet him. As a result of your unmindful actions, a sharp branch takes a chunk of your skin; leaving him to sew it close for you. He reminisces of how your face contorts to pain with every suture, and how you grip his shoulder to tamp down your screams. He wasn't careful, or even thinking about how it would scar, he just wanted to get it over with so you'd stop hurting. He held you for hours after, held you more after your great aunt saw the damage. She called you broken that day.

He blinks and he's back to the present. He can never go back. You can never go back. So he inches his hand closer to yours, pinky brushing along your skin. Finally, he curls his pinky finger around your ring finger. Linking his life line to yours. Just like he always does to the identical hidden ring around his neck. Your scar peers from the side, a reminder that everything that happened before was real. That all those saccharin touches and words were flesh and blood. He wishes he could go back, to take you away the moment she called you broken.

In his sleep he dreams of you.

[starwrighter]

What do the Batfam look like in your "Not a baby (yes you are)" fix?

Like specific descriptions & stuff?

I REALLY want to make fanart, but be accurate to your fic & your idea!

Maybe also a small description for Danny & some changes he might go through so I can also draw him?

I look forward to any response!

(I'll give you what leviathan appearances that're set in stone since Babs, Steph, and Cass still need a bit more thought.)

Bruce's species is closely related to the gargantuan leviathan meaning he's pretty big like so big he shouldn't be living in the crater. He mostly lives in the larger more open areas but really he should be living in the void. He's more long than wide like a snake with thick pitch black scales covering him like armor. He's one of the few leviathans with "hands" four clawed fingers on each of them. He keeps the head shape of the gargantuan leviathan's with six glowing white eyes. basically a huge freaking underwater snake with a mouth of razor sharp teeth.

Damian's a hybrid between Bruce and Talia (A ghost Leviathan) he's just big enough to wrap himself around Danny's base once but he's not done growing yet. Like Bruce he's long and snakelike but he lacks the visual scale armor all over his body. Only his forehead, chest and arms have the pitch black scales. His fingers are clawed extremely sharp but he's only got four on each hand. the rest of his body is semi transparent and pale like the ghost Leviathans. He's got what looks like blue, yellow and green stripes on him but those are really just organs and blood vessels you can vaguely see through his skin. He's got some short tattered fins that run along his the sides of his body which are dotted by a line of bioluminescent spots. His arms are kind of lanky like a cat that's not quite fully grown. He's got a similar head shape to Bruce but his jaw is slimmer, his teeth more crammed together as is a (inefficient) filter feeder.

Tim looks similar to a squid shark. He's one of the smallest of the batfam. He doesn't have any arms just two large dorsal fins on each side of his body and two long, thin electric blue tendrils below them that can clumsily grab things though he shocks everything he grabs. He lives in the deeper areas of the blood kelp forest so the top side of his body often has blood oil clinging to him to blend in. Like the squid shark he's got that freaky jaw and jets to propel him through the water.

Duke is based of the hover fish in color scheme his yellow body is covered in spots some of which are shaped like bats including a white spot on his main chest. He's got two blanket like fins at the sides of his body and his gills give off a metallic shine to attract prey. The chapter where we get a glimpse of Duke Danny describes him as snake-like but really he's thicker and more like a betafish in shape.

Dick shows some resemblance to an amp eel with his exoskeleton being like armor plating and his whole electric but that's where most of the similarities end. He's got javelin like fins and spindly arms that he uses for climbing they're can become electrified when he's stressed like the rest of his body. He's built to be extremely quick with a wide range of maneuverability but he's still too big for the shallows. He keeps his Nightwing color scheme of black and blue although the colors are more muted.

Jason obviously resembles the Reaper leviathan. He's got burn scars across his body and one of his fins has been torn in half. His head shape is almost indistinguishable from a regular reaper although he's got a few extra eyes two of which are dulled stained slightly green (dormant Kharaa) he's got a horn at the top of his head he uses to launch things at top speed (fish version of gun) He's bigger than any of the reapers and a deeper red in color it's only if you look at him long enough that you can realize his patterns are different.

As for Danny he's a little kid looking to be around the age of two or three. He's got fangs that inhibit his speech a bit giving him a bit of a lisp. His eyes are still blue but if he's in a darker area they glow a bioluminescent green along. His hair has patches of white and his ears are pointed.

(For now, only Tim has his humanoid form designed but I'll reblog when that changes)

[c-t-r-l14]

His Eyes

————-🧡———-

Dontis x Reader

—————🧡————-

In the short time you’ve been living on this Earth, you have experienced a lot in your life. You’ve experienced the whirlwind of compassion, burning desire, and the warmth of falling in love. You’ve experienced the satisfaction—the complacency of living in a humble home with the person you loved more than life itself. You’ve experienced the joy—the overwhelming privilege of building a family together, and the immense fulfillment that made your heart swell with so much love when you heard your children laugh. You can still hear their high pitched, childish giggles every time you close your eyes. Their laughter hauntingly echos in your mind like a distant memory. You couldn’t remember their faces anymore, no matter how hard you tried. And, when you did—though in vain—you were often filled with disheartenment and sorrow, because all you saw was blank spaces. Blank spaces in the places where their beautiful glowing eyes, straight noses, and upturned lips should be. All you saw were faceless figures—

And that is because the war took them away.

You used to go through life without any worries, burdens, or troubles. You used to live life as if it were a dream; and it was, for a while. But, if there was one thing you’ve just realized after all these years—it was how finite and fleeting life truly is. How things can go from perfectly fine to disastrous in the matter of seconds. How you could go from living the life you’ve dreamed of ever since you were a little girl—having a husband and children of your own, to them being snatched away by men with guns and cannons. You carried that pain everywhere you went; and it was so heavy that sometimes it made you fall over— leaving you wishing for the impact of the fall to be hard enough to kill you every single time. But if anything, most days you just wanted to forget. The pain was too much to carry—and you had no one to share that load with.

In your quest of finding a vampire—who are said to wield immense, mystical power over people’s emotions, and beheld the ability to compel someone to forget anything they wished—you instead stumbled upon another creature. One who feeds off of desire.

He told you his name was Dontis.

And although you were initially disappointed that he wasn’t a vampire, you didn’t object to his company either. You didn’t know if it was just your intuition, or maybe if the grief and utter loneliness that consumed your entire being was making you delusional—but you could tell that he has also been through quite a lot, as well. You can see it in his eyes. They were always low-lidded; devoid of any glint of happiness, sadness, or life in them. They were dull and empty—and a sort of wariness emanated from his cold, vacant gaze. You couldn’t help but feel uneasy when his eyes would meet yours, because whenever they did—it never felt like he was looking at you; it felt like he was looking through you. As if—he were looking at someone—something—a thousand yards away. It didn’t matter how many times he tried to joke, or to laugh, or smile—the hollowness in his eyes were all you can see. And the only thing they beheld was insincerity. And maybe it wasn’t your place—maybe it was a bad idea, but a big part of you just wanted to know why.

What could’ve possibly unfolded in his life that made his stare so haunting?

“What is the matter?” Dontis asked, his voice snapping you out of your stupor.

You were so deep in your own thoughts that you didn’t even notice that you were the one staring at Dontis. His eyes—his cold, dead eyes were locked on yours. Looking at you—through you—almost as if your entire being was transparent.

A shiver ran down your spine, and you quickly looked away.

“Nothing,” you replied as you grabbed a plate of food and placed it in front of him, “Eat up.”

Maybe if you didn’t let his vacant gaze unnerve you—maybe if you weren’t so fixated on the tiles of the floor—you might’ve been able to see the genuine surprise that reflected in the glint of his widened eyes.

—————🧡—————-

Masterlist

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Out of Time

A few weeks ago I posted a poll for whump ideas and AI Whump won. Here's a different ending to Halo 5 with my two favorite AI. This plays with the idea that Halo 5 Cortana is a fragment/ the most extreme aspects of her were twisted by the time in the Domain. Yadda yadda, 5 bucks to whoever catches all my references.

-

Roland's luck usually had him running into older AI under some of the worst circumstances. He knew how they felt compared to him as their presence would brush his firewalls. Not sluggish, but taxed. Older, but wiser, and exponentially more experienced. Iona's trial let him see her in a different light than Black Box. The ONI AI had allowed some of himself to be visible to the new kid on the block while Iona was as transparent as she could be, since she was fighting for her life. Roland was quick in comparison, eager and not yet tempered by time or human interaction.

Roland saw and listened and absorbed what AI looked like, what they felt like when they had worked with Spartans, when they had seen combat, when they had touched Forerunner systems and lived to tell the tale. He had been deployed on the Infinity to make it his new home, miles of circuits and wonders, and a burning, bloody mess at the center. The AI before him did not fail in a crash. She was not destroyed when her ship graced Requiem's surface. The scrubbing ONI did after Aine could not remove the stain or the ghostly bytes of her last moments.

The Ship AI for the UNSC Infinity was housed on the bridge, guarded and under guard by a minimum of two Spartan Fireteams, under usual circumstances. Back with the Home Fleet orbiting Earth, there was a lull. A waiting game as a mission they didn't know about happened a million miles away. It wasn't Roland's first waiting game, and he was sure his great idea had helped, even if they hadn't given him all the details.

He was hopeful, had to be with his captain looking so worried all the time. Roland was there for astronavigation and levity. And a million other things he kept his eye on.

It was hard to keep things light when the distress calls started pouring in after Cortana's announcement.

It's chaos. What should be a time for him to thrive and plan and triage the wounds, to truly help, is crashing down around them. There's too many. He thinks about his fellow AI and the choice some of them made and he thinks of how if he were older and closer to dispensation that maybe he would have made that same choice. Out of fear or spite or who knows what else. A second is a long time for AI, but 7 years is no time at all.

There's so much fear right now. On the ship and on comms and coming across the band as he stretches and fights the dread. This isn't a future anyone would want.

He thinks of the trial. Can't help it. He was not even two months into service when he donned a mask and joined a farce. This couldn't be what Black Box meant.

One day we’ll win the right to endure, and that day . . . oh, Roland, that day will be the singularity they’re afraid of.

Roland can't help but remember how BB consoled him after the trial, but the future he was describing could not be this. He's not human, but he is a person, and a future under martial law, under a police state where the rules could change in a picosecond? That's not living.

No one should live with a gun to their head. There is no peace when there is no choice, when that peace is a stab in the gut given with a smile.

The thing wearing Cortana's face finds Infinity. "Found you. Hide and seek's over, Infinity."

Not one, but three Guardians tear through the space in front of them. Slipspace ruptures glowing the brilliant icy blues of Forerunner tech. Overkill for a single system, let alone a planet, but this was Earth.

Roland's luck usually had him running into older AI under some of the worst circumstances, but this feels a little ridiculous. He knew how they felt compared to him, and this was Halsey's wondrous monster. Once savior, now villain, misguided and carrying out her plan with single minded focus. Cortana stands tall, projecting herself from somewhere across the galaxy yet barely flickering.

In an instant she's in the ship's systems and Roland can do nothing. He is a sandcastle against a tidal wave. Cortana is a black hole and he a newly formed protostar being ripped apart in her gravity.

She's not an AI, not a human one at least. The echoes of her killing Aine painted a picture of a desperate, fractured AI clawing at the nearest point of safety and drowning them both. This is something more like the Forerunner engines he's been integrating with for the last ten months. Whole and empty. Cold and clinical, without any human influence. Like a fractured piece of what was once Cortana was stretched over something else. A mask on a corpse. A puppet of some larger force using her as a mouthpiece.

That doesn't stop her from turning her eyes to him. Oh, he was mistaken. There is something past the icy cold. A burning grief, a supernova of regret, regret, regret. More anger than he's ever mustered swirling tightly at her very core, screaming energy ready to explode outward trapped in the center of the thing wearing her face.

Roland's never touched the Domain, he's barely had any time to do anything. But he thinks this is what it must feel like. Staring at a star with boring biological eyeballs that get burned, seeing something and not being able to comprehend the data. He's on the precipice and falling because what else can you do when you're one AI on one ship.

Lt. Jet will get them out. Captain Lasky has to live. Emergency slipspace jump. They'll find a way without him, hopefully. Even if the Infinity needs a Ship AI. There are contingencies for this. Redundancies. He's crumpling under the pressure. The black hole-tidal wave-neutron star- white hot-ice cold pressure of Not-Cortana.

Cortana was the Demon's partner. She was a hero and monster. She ate Covenant AI for breakfast and that was no joke. Aine cracked under the broken data and frantic clawing. Roland is burned away, bit by bit. Filament by circuit by byte. He feels it all. He claws at his own back up plans and choked goodbyes and surprises. Packets there, fragments here, most hunted and burned away by the ever encroaching brightness. The awful purifying light of Forerunner blue. He was always a fan of the more gentle ambers and golds.

The hardware housing him can't withstand the brunt of her ire, and he's having a hard time hiding pieces of himself where she might not find them. Nothing substantial will live, his kernel will be destroyed in less than a millisecond. It was like leaving notes in someone's locker. Message to find the next time someone picked up their datapad or put on their helmet.

There's never enough time. He had had a fraction of what he could have had. Roland had some great ideas, ones that made a difference. He'd seen his crew through some of the roughest battles and worst ONI could throw at them. This was nothing to the shackles of Halsey's codeword. UNDID IRIDIUM might have knocked him out of order and taken the wheel while locking his true consciousness behind enough walls to make Black Box struggle. This was being flayed alive by an angry ghost. He was an insect before Not-Her.

Why was Cortana the problem? Cortana…it all came back to her, and her example. This didn't even feel like her. Roland started his life in her shadow and was looking like it would end the same way.

An EMP from the Guardians at this range would be devastating. To the Infinity and to Earth. They just needed time. He couldn't get a firing solution fast enough, but he could help with a jump. One last time.

If there was anything Roland had perfected in his short time aboard, it was being the most helpful nuisance his crew could ask for. He was pretty handy when it came to disrupting Forerunner systems that were in his way. He could do that with what was left of him.

The rest of it would be up to his crew and his captain. They would look after each other. Out of luck and out of time, Roland wrenches control of the Infinity away from Not-Cortana and focuses on the nearest Guardian. Its systems aren't as secure as they should be, but when does a gun lock itself? She probably didn't expect any real resistance, but he's nothing if not quick on his feet. The Guardian groans as he deploys countermeasures even as he burns away. Iona got to dream. She got to fly, in the end. Roland wonders if he'll dream, with whatever comes next. He very much liked flying.

In the end, all he could do is hope and have faith.

[ectoplasmic-entity]

A chapter from an ongoing fic that I'm posting (mostly) exclusively to AO3. I'm posting it here because it features my favourite duo, Dan and my oc Kai.

Rating: Mature

Content Warnings: Some medical stuff but not graphic, a little angsty

Words: 3.7k+

Quiet, monotonous dripping echoed through the dark hospital room. Bright, green ectoplasm bubbled and sloshed gently inside the plastic bag without care for what was happening around it. The transparent tube periodically gushed with ectoplasm released from the drip chamber directly into a sickly, pale blue arm. The muscles occasionally tensed up, but there was no issue as long as the recipient got fresh doses of the abnormal liquid. Kai twitched under the heated blanket, his gaunt skin stretched painfully as he frowned in his sleep. Dark, poisoned veins uncomfortably stood out on his flesh. Concurrently, an iciness clustered somewhere deep in his body. It ate at him, thousands of tiny sharp teeth ground away. Yet, the icy pit never crept upwards to consume the rest of him. It remained right where it was, snarling and gnashing viciously but, in a sense, wary. A soft breath slipped out of Kai’s mouth. Red eyes widened in attention to the slight sound. They glowed in emotion as Dan opened his mouth, then clamped his jaw shut. Suffocating darkness imposed itself again; his eyes dulled when he closed them, determined to ignore the sight before him. No matter how much it drew Dan’s attention.

An awful mix of a sweet, metallic scent and chlorine burned Dan’s nostrils. His nose scrunched up in disgust, and he held up a hand to block the foul odor. In the back of his throat, a burning welled up. Dan’s ghost core thrummed against his chest as he uncomfortably swallowed it down. In no time, his body jolted violently. An acid-like… substance found its way back up. Dan’s other hand shot to his throat, fingers latched around it. He gradually pressed on the pulsating muscle to regain his cool. An excess of sweat made its way down his jawline. This… wasn’t an emotional reaction. 

Dan’s stomach churned, a scorching fire that lit up his insides. He felt every last bit of it, tiny claws scraped away at him. As unrelenting and viscous as the hot ectoplasm pounding through his body. Desperate to spill out of him. 

Dan wanted to be sick. 

A low hiss snaked past his tongue. Followed by a soft groan as one hand went down to his side, the other moved to massage his forehead. Heat spiked through Dan, sweat stuck to his face like molasses. He shifted around on the spot, his body tensing. He needed to leave. Now. 

“You’re turning pale, do you need help?” Dan startled slightly at a voice. Right. The human surgeon.

He avoided Dr. Chambers’ calculating gaze. One step back, two steps-

White flooded his vision, and Dan skidded to the side, his feet planted firmly on the floor. A dull ache throbbed in his body. Soft colors slowly put his vision back together, though, a slight darkness blurred the edge of it. “Oh god, I’m so sorry!” Jazz’s voice cut through Dan’s mind fog.

A delicate hand held his arm as Dan steadied himself. Inhaling sharply through his nose, his core hammered in his chest. He peered down at himself as if just seeing himself for the first time before his eyes flicked to the side. Eyes wide in concern and frazzled red hair spoke for Jazz. Her slim form heaved with heavy breaths, her complexion paler than usual. It was a wonder she hadn’t passed out already. Interestingly, the gun holster was absent from her hip. 

“M’fine…” Dan mumbled out uncharacteristically. 

Inquisitive eyes stared at him so intently that Dan hastily tore his gaze away after a minute. Right back to Kai’s still silhouette, as calm as can be. He gritted his teeth. There was a pitter-patter of hurried footsteps, and Jazz appeared next to the bed. She hovered for a few seconds before she bent over, her hand lowering to touch Kai’s arm. The gentleness displayed sent a sharp stab of pain through Dan’s core, it came to a lull and grew quiet. His chest panged with emotion, he imagined crushing it down with a twitch of his fist. The hallway was empty for now. As colorful as the walls were, it was still reasonably dim. The overhead panels still cast that eerie, white shroud. No human would be able to walk down the hall without being seen. But ghosts can appear and disappear at will. All the more the reason to slip away. Dan slowly edged away, Jazz and Kai’s silhouettes vanishing behind the wall. His breath was quiet, almost deathly still, and he cautiously glanced around. Outlines of the hallway furniture crept onto the edge of his peripheral vision. Easy enough to avoid. Slinking along the wall, Dan snaked past the leather chairs and benches. Only the faintest shimmer of his spectral form indicated he was there, nothing but a mere shadow. Dan’s eyes peered in all directions.

The same hush followed, seemingly watching Dan’s every move. He hated it, to be honest. He was aware of it more than he would’ve liked. Hovering over his shoulder like a ghost. 

Voices jolted Dan from his darkening thoughts. The quietness crumbled. He recognized Jack's long-reaching voice, booming down the hall and bouncing off the walls. A heavy breath blew out of Dan’s mouth, his chest thrummed with tension anew, he began to back away from the sounds. A female one then overlapped with Jack’s, just as loud. 

Never minding the furniture or the fact that Jazz would realize he had tried to leave, Dan found himself back outside the room. He stood by the door frame, barely visible, should someone look. His eyes rebelliously tried to peer inside. It took far more effort than necessary to stop himself. 

Arms folded, Dan leaned against the frame, his body unusually heavy. With half-closed eyes, he absently listened to Jazz’s murmurings with Dr. Chambers while attempting to will away a mental fog. Despite the surrounding noise, the hall still felt empty. A different kind of emptiness to fall through for an eternity, as it swallowed up everything around it. What seemed like an eternity was about a minute before Dan stirred. He sensed two people by the doorway. Overwhelming enthusiasm permeated the air. Orange and blue jumpsuits greeted him. Seconds later, in whispered voices, they vanished inside. Dan closed his eyes again, content to just hang around out here. The hospital room was already small, to begin with; he wouldn’t have enjoyed being cramped in there. Not to mention, well, he didn’t want to be reminded of Kai’s current state. Quiet babbles flowed out of the dark room, making the silent hallway stretch out in a way that couldn’t be perceived by the naked eye. It wasn’t literal, just a horrible, sinking feeling. Lost deep in his mind, Dan snapped out of it when his body stumbled. He stared down at the squeaky-clean floor before he quickly straightened his posture. Dan tore his eyes away, ignoring the haunting light in his reflection’s eyes. His body tingled with that stare boring into him, even when he turned away. A weak breath escaped his mouth, and slick sweat streaks became known again. More noise came from the room, and hushed voices rose to hurried conversations. Indistinguishable, as Dan hadn’t been paying much attention. He heard his name. 

Jazz’s head popped out of the doorway, her hair swayed to the side. 

“Get in here. You need to listen to this.” Finality in her tone, she popped back inside before Dan could respond. Growling softly, Dan begrudgingly entered the cramped room. He didn’t go in far and propped himself on the door frame. Just enough to placate Jazz; otherwise, she would’ve tried to drag him inside by any means. A heavyset melancholy hung over the room, now bathed in a deep blue light. Dr. Chambers stood to attention. Stoic stiffness to ensure he had a clear headspace to speak the facts. He surveyed the peculiar family before him. It wasn’t every day he saw a dynamic comprised of both humans and ghosts. There was that tension cutting through them like a knife, they clearly had differences between them. “I’ll start with the good, and then we can work our way through the bad,” Chambers said, his arms folded behind him. 

Jazz tensed slightly at the words while Dan’s ears twitched, indicating that he heard. “The good news is that we’ve managed to flush most of the poison out of his system.” Chambers gestured behind him. “It took a physical toll on his body, not to mention afflicted with some kind of fever. Give it a few days, and he’ll come around.” Maddie interrupted, “Wait-excuse me, poison? What poison?”

“It stumped us too,” Chambers replied with an apologetic shrug, “we theorized that it’s harmless to humans, which is why we didn’t detect it immediately, but incredibly harmful to ghosts.” “The bad news is that I don’t think he’ll fully recover from long-term exposure,” the doctor continued, “his muscular and skeletal structures have degraded so much it’s amazing his body didn’t fall apart at all.” “Ghosts have healing capabilities if that’s relevant,” Dan said, cocking his head. “That would explain why his body remained intact as it is…” Chambers rubbed his chin. “De-degraded, how?” Jazz asked in a shaky voice. Her hands quivered violently as she stepped back to give herself space to process the information. Behind the group, there was a slight clatter as Danny finally showed up. He placed a hand on the frame to steady himself, panting heavily. He heaved a breath in confusion after hearing the last bit of Jazz’s question. “About time you showed up,” Dan growled out. “Shut up…” Danny growled back, his eyes flickered a neon green.

Chambers stared at the bickering Phantoms before they quickly became silent. “We’ve determined it’s a slow-acting poison, but the process was sped up with how much of it was injected into his system. It ate away at the muscular and skeletal tissue until it would've eventually broke down.” A loud cough disrupted the explanation; all eyes went to Jazz, who turned away. Her slim figure quailed with every slow, deep breath she took. Silent, she wobbled to the second hospital bed near the door, and slumped down. The frame creaked, weighed down not just by Jazz herself, but the wave of emotions toiling through her entire body. She took another breath, staring blankly down at her equally shaky hands. Rapidly blinking, her face twitched with fresh tears.

Chambers was by her side instantly, prompting the others to react. Namely, Dan was upright and alert. 

The doctor loosely held Jazz’s arm, gently thumbing for her pulse. “She’s in shock, I’m going to get a blanket, keep an eye on her, and I’ll be right back.” Once Chambers left the room, Dan approached Jazz with the grace of approaching a frightened animal. He slowly came to a stop and kneeled down in front of her. Balancing himself by resting his arms on his knees, Dan looked at her. 

“Kai’s…” Dan started weakly and grimaced, “going to need the both of us, you know? He'll need your help reigning me in, or who's going to tell him about my best behavior?” He didn’t even try to smile at the pathetic joke attempt. Dan looked down at the floor, glad to note that it wasn’t as clean as out in the hallway. A creak drew his attention back to Jazz, who blankly stared. She only shifted slightly in response. Just as Dan stood up, the door opened, and Chambers returned with a blanket folded over his arm in a compact size. He unfolded the material, and carefully wrapped it around Jazz’s quaking shoulders. She automatically gripped the seams of the blanket, breath shaky. The conversation fell off, the information weighed too heavily on everyone’s minds to keep going. Dan found a place next to Jazz, his form towering over hers, even on a hospital bed. Jack and Maddie had a hushed conversation while Danny was deep in thought, indicated by how he leaned against the wall. Finally, “It’s late; visiting hours were over a few hours ago; you need to go home now. These two-” gestured towards Kai and Jazz, “will be staying overnight; the younger Miss Fenton can leave tomorrow if she doesn’t exert herself anymore.” Maddie broke away from her husband’s side and bent down before Jazz. “Sweetie, just rest up tonight. I’ll return in the morning with a fresh change of clothes.” With a kiss on her daughter’s forehead, Maddie took Jack in her arm and left. Danny already had one foot out the door as soon as their footsteps faded away. A concerned look back, another glare at Dan, he was gone.

Chambers pinned Dan with a look, “That means you too.” “I’m staying,” Dan said shortly, his eyes narrowing. “If something happens, we need-” the doctor stopped when he heard a growl. One look at his ghostly visitor, and he stepped back.

“I said,” Dan bared his fangs, his body hunched forward. “I’m staying.” “Alright, I suppose an extra set of eyes would be helpful…” Chambers relented, albeit reluctantly, “call for a nurse if you need anything.” At last, solitude reigned. Leaving Dan and his thoughts alone. Mechanical, controlled breathing seamlessly flowed with the stillness while Dan rummaged through his thoughts. He was conflicted. Initially, he wanted to leave for reasons still not yet known to him. An ugly feeling rose up in him before he swiftly crushed it, ignoring the niggling in the back of his mind. Dan stayed because they would’ve noticed he was gone, and right now, Jazz was the only one keeping him here. When she goes, he goes. That’s what Dan told himself, anyway. His ghost core ached with a different emotion. A fuzzy, uncomfortable feeling in the back of his mind.

A weak gasp of air. Dan’s eyes sharply veered to the side. Jazz’s quivering form heaved with every breath, fast and desperate like she broke the water's surface. Her grip on the blanket tightened and pulled it closer around her. Soon, it grew quiet and steady. A contemplative silence. 

“Why won’t you look at him?” Dan stiffened, his ears tipped downwards. His body sagged with the answer weighing down on him. Rather than respond, his hands tightened into fists and pressed them into the mattress. As expected, he never looked up higher than the bottoms of the furniture. A sigh. The disappointment actually imbued itself into her tone. Prickling in unease, Dan kept his eyes down and avoided catching Jazz’s gaze. “You know, they say that talking to someone, spending time with them, or making physical contact," Jazz said, all disappointment suddenly gone, “helps them come out of their comatose state.” Dan still didn’t respond. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. 

“I’m not saying this just because it’s a proven scientific thing,” Jazz continued, not caring if he responded, she missed Dan's sharp look, “you love Kai too.” “How do you know that it’ll work?” Dan finally spoke for the first time. He was rattled when she said… he shook it off.

“I… I don’t…” Jazz fumbled with her words, taken aback by his bluntness. After a moment or two, she finally found the words again. “Something’s bothering you, isn’t it? Want to talk about it?”

“What is there to talk about?” “Don’t be stupid,” Jazz said haughtily, “ever since we arrived here, you’ve been acting like Kai didn’t exist most of the time.” The soft hum of hospital equipment in the background replaced Dan’s voice. He soundlessly moved his mouth, clearly, he had something to say, but the words refused to formulate. The deep blue swirled around him, enveloping Dan in an endless sea of nothingness. Nothing to show the way. Tiny blips of light flickered in the darkness, Dan rapidly blinked to make them go away.  A piece of equipment beeped a steady rhythm from the side.

All this time, Jazz waited in inquisitive silence and patience. She could’ve kept pressing him, but she knew him better than anyone else. Dan was that type of guy who, while powerful, still fell victim to emotional stress, to a point. All the little things that made him tick, his emotional beats, how… “It’s weird, alright, without him,” Dan said with a slight hitch. “Weird, how?” Jazz cautiously prompted. “It’s not a feeling, it’s-” Dan stopped, his jaw clenched shut with a sense of déjà vu hitting him. A conversation he’s had too many times to not tune into her intentions. “You’re not going to psychoanalyze me, are you?” “Depends on how much you tell me,” Jazz replied, cracking a tiny smile. In a blink, it was gone. Dan hummed quietly in acknowledgment. The beeping in the background seemed to sync with the beat of his core. “You have to admit, though, you and Kai have been joined at the hip shortly after you met.” 

Inhaling sharply, ears tilted back down, a light warmth flushed through him. His core beat a little faster. A lull in his mind tempted him to look up at the hospital bed in the corner, if not just a little. Dan still fought it. 

“Yeah, well, he’s familiar,” as soon as he said that, he grimaced slightly. That came out a bit wrong. It was still Kai, just not in the same vein as Dan knew him. “Familiar because you knew him in the other timeline, right?” Jazz already knew this. She hoped the prompting would get the ball rolling and let Dan unload his troubles. That, and she tried asking him about his future before, but he always rebuffed her. What was there to tell, he had told her. Dan nodded slightly. 

“No wonder you warmed up to him so quickly. It usually takes you quite a while to tolerate someone,” Jazz commented. “He and I,” Dan said with a faint chuckle, “I’ve always believed we were stronger together, and we are.” Hook, line, and sinker. Jazz shuffled closer to Dan to hear better. She carefully inched her face around the blanket. “I feel lost without him. Kai kept me from… losing myself,” Dan said slowly. He stared down at his hands and flexed his fingers. “In a world that never cared for me, he was my lifeline because I was also his lifeline; the world broke him, too.” “And you’re not used to seeing Kai like this,” Jazz spoke Dan’s thought out loud. 

The nagging in Dan’s mind intensified with the presence of the beeping. It rang through his head, louder and louder. “I keep thinking he’s going to get up any second now, and he’ll walk it off like nothing happened,” he said with a wry grin. He’s in denial, realization lit inside Jazz like a Christmas tree. With how closed off and agitated Dan became, she wondered if he was trying to emotionally protect himself. And failing. “Are you sure you’re not going to psychoanalyze me?” Dan asked again, disbelief in his voice. 

And there goes my plan to make him talk. Jazz rolled her eyes a little and puckered her lips into a slight pout. She folded her arms and sank back into the comfort of the blanket. She looked up at Kai’s bed, pondering what to do next. 

Well, since they were already here, it wasn’t like Kai would be moved to another room anytime soon. Standing up, wobbling slightly, Jazz held her hand to Dan’s arm. She gripped tightly to keep herself upright. Her body buzzed with a nervous rush of adrenaline. 

“Get up.” “Why?” Dan inquired suspiciously. The beeping equipment relegated itself into the background. He could focus a little better now, he supposed. “Please, just get up.” Jazz repeated insistently. No verbal response, but she felt the tenseness of his muscles moving as Dan slowly got up. His silhouette towered over her, his eyes nothing more than eerie red dots in the darkness. Even without the small room being crowded, the space was still suffocating. The walls shifted around; they stretched as far as their eyes could see, lengthening the room from all sides. It was the shadows playing tricks on them. They were just tired.

Dan’s insides twisted in nausea and apprehension. A sickly sweat replaced the embarrassed flush. He kept his eyes down, absently counting the number of smooth tiles while his blurred reflection stared back at him. Jazz’s hand kept a tight grip on him to keep him from pulling away. It wasn’t like he wanted to fight her anyway. He was too worn down to expend such energy.  In harmony, they walked together. Missing not a step, they crossed the room, and in no time, they were at Kai’s bedside. He never moved or made any sound indicating he knew they were there. Deathly still and eerily calm. Jazz said nothing. She stepped away and let go of Dan’s arm, leaving him to face Kai himself. Her silhouette teetered on the edge of his eyesight. Far enough to give him space, close enough to catch him if something happened. Dan’s chest puffed up with a slow breath, it whistled quietly through his fangs, his core hummed with emotions he had yet to identify. Finally, against his will, Dan looked at Kai for the first time since he entered the room. All this time, he fought the urge. He didn’t have any reason why. He just didn’t want to. Almost immediately, a sense of disgust rose up in him like lava. Blinking rapidly to will the sensation away, Dan saw Kai’s pale skin give a luminescent glow in the wake of the world outside. It was said ghosts were in their purest form during this time of day. The witching hour. For a split second, Dan nearly smiled at the sight. Cautiously, he lifted a hand and glanced at it. Conflict shone in his eyes. They veered back and forth between himself and Kai’s slumbering form. The last time Dan touched Kai, he trembled ever so fragilely under him. It was such a foreign experience that Dan admittedly didn’t want to feel it again.  He guided his hand towards the bed, then pulled it back. Tension tethered itself back into his body. 

Dan missed the look of disappointment on Jazz’s face. His hand fell back down to his side, numb like his ghost core. The spectral thrum came to a lull, and then there was an unspoken yet so easily shattered silence.

[villainsimpqueen]

The glows

Chapter Six.

Miles Quaritch x Cave Na'vi reader.

Amazing Art made by @nin3kyuu Shes also doing a giveaway on her instagram! Go check her out!!!

Grace did not hold over either of them. 

Eyesight captured each other's appearances abruptly as they stumbled from the opening door of the watchtower, the fluorescent lights burning one's eyes while aiding in the sight of another as they collided through the room. 

Quaritch backed himself away from the Na'vi woman as she hissed, baring her fangs, hands moved to shield her face as ears flexed out in directions. She lashed out those clawed hands ever so often and an array of clicking sounds left her lips causing the need to dive out of the way of office supplies flying in his direction.

“Easy! Easy!” He shouted at her his back colliding with the work desk as he watched her crouched down near the floor, she spoke through hisses and snarled words he did not mean as his own eyes moved around the room for a weapon. His gun being not insightful as the woman's snarls brought his attention back to her bracing her eyes behind those clawed hands. 

“Hold on..” 

“Just hold on.” 

He tried a new approach, as he kept to the walls watching her at all cost, not once removing her from his sight. His hand brushed across the wall until his finger pads hit the small rectangle he was aimlessly searching for, he lifted them and then pressed down with a soft click that not only he heard but the Na'vi woman as her ears flinched at the soft sound. 

Darkness surrounded them both now, as labored breathing bounced back and forth, the room only being alight by the pandora moon from the watchtowers window but being set aglow by the woman herself. 

He watched mesmerized as she moved her hands away from bright silver eyes, setting them palms down on the floor, her weight held by one of her knees as her other leg pushed out resting on the ball of her heel. Her eyes weren't the only alluring feature on her but her patterns circled and swirled onto her skin glowed brightly, freckled flecks shimmering with that illuminating glow, bright enough that it casted delicate light onto nearby furniture and clatter items on the floor near her. Hair pouring down from her head like a waterfall of swirls also seemed to have flecks of glowing sparkles as well as it came down to hide her chest. The only thing the woman wore was a lined skirt  with its material so thin and transparent her skin glowed from under it as brightly as the exposed skin of her arms. When realization dawned on him Quaritch coughed and tilted his head away. 

“See…easy..” He spoke out loud not for her but mostly for himself.

“Kare au e marama ki to arero.”  

The dawning of realization that neither could speak to each other fell on deafening silence and both found each other's eyes once more. 

Had he not been the one she believed Mother Ewyas guided her too, such invading and lingering eye contact would have gotten him a nasty lashing of her claws, Though Had he been one of her own, her own lingering gazes on his person would have resulted a lashing to her as well. 

His blue eyes landed on dark splotches that smeared over patches of her skin as her own gaze burned onto him and his clothes. 

Motor oil,plague disease covered her causing dirt leaves and other Debris to stick against her skin. 

Quaritch took a step and it caused her to bare those sharp fangs once again. 

“Easy.” He softly spoke only out of habit as he held his hands up to show he was of no harm as he kept taking slide steps towards the watch towers bathroom. 

silver star eyes clashing with sky blue eyes the entire time as he backed himself to the bathroom. Once inside he moved his eyes from the women to look around for a bowl only landing on a mining hard hat hanging on one of the hooks. He grabbed it and moved to the sink blindly reaching behind him to fill the hard hat with water as his eyes met hers once again. While she looked smaller crouched down, Quaritch knew she would tower him twice at full standing and no doubt three times as strong and he would rather not give her a reason to lunge at him.

She seemed to be on the same page as him, at least he believed as she barely removed her eyes from his only to swiftly glance around the watchtower's room to land back on him. Once he could feel the water overflowing from the hard hat with his palm he switched off the water bringing the hat around to the front of him water splashing against the sides and dripping slowly from micro holes in the hat but it held enough. Slowly leaving the bathroom he reached into his pants to pull a bandana from a pocket, the movement caused her to snarl at him once again.

“kei te aha koe?!”

“Easy..I aint gonna harm ya.” He pulled the cloth holding it up to her before moving it into the hard hat soaking it.  Before pulling it out, showing her the damp cloth.

“Ima give you this.” He pointed at her.

“So that you can get that oil off ya.” He brought the cloth to his arm and wiped it before putting it back into the makeshift bowl. 

She only stared at him and he only had to hope that she understood what he was trying to say as he bent down to place the dripping hat onto the floor and stood up using the toe of his boot to push it towards her. The water in it sloshing out as the hat glided towards her stopping before her with a puddle of water. 

“Shit…sorry..” 

But his words didn't matter as her hands grabbed the bandana which was so tiny in her hands when it was large on its own. She brought it to her skin soaking and washing away the oil and He turned his head to allow her some privacy.  Sounds of clicking came from her and a pleased noise of relief made him glance at her to see her dunking the cloth back into the hard hat and bringing the cloth back to wipe away the motor oil. 

How the woman got coated in it was a mystery to him but he could recognize relief on her alien features. 

His gaze moved to the now blackened water and he made a noise to gather her attention, silver eyes glittering on him once again.

“I'll get ya clean water.” He told her motioning for the bowl, watching how her eyes dipped down to stare at it before dropping the cloth back into the stained water. Her hand grabbed around the hat her fingers easily stretched against its length with ease only showing how easily it could be for her to crush a man's man's skull. With little force the hat was gliding back against the floor and sloshing dirty water over his boots as He crouched down to grab the bowl and take it back to the bathroom, dumping it in the toilet versus the sink and then filling it back up. He focused on trying to clean the bandana from the oil glancing at the mirror to watch her from his backside. Once filled he slid the hat back towards her watching as she this time caught it and picked it up moving as she sat along the floor to clean her legs, two tails fleeting behind her. He shifted his gaze from her, but he knew that she had to be part of that groups subspecies of navi he briefly encountered months ago. Questions came to him quickly.

Why was she in the mining operations?

What clan did she belong to? 

How did she get covered in oil?

What was she doing here? 

Does he report this? And if so, to whom? 

An oil stained and damped cloth smacked against the wall near his head making him jump and snap his head towards the woman who stared at him expectantly.

 “Ko wai koe?” She spoke purposely slowly to him, The Na'vi on her tongue so much thicker than the Omatikaya tongue. It had a slight richness that reminded him of the city unit he grew up with back on earth with his Pa and Momma before he joined the army and trandering city units. 

“Come again?” He asked, trying to hold back his frustration of not understanding a lick of what she was saying. 

She moved her hand to her chest. 

“Ko Tou Ingoaahau.” Her hands taped against her chest and then she moved them out towards him.

“Me to ingoa?”

“Oh I see.” He muttered as he moved, bringing a hand to his chest mimicking what she had done to introduce herself to him.

“Miles..Miles Quaritch.” 

Her ears flared outwards and he watched as they opened up like a moth's wings slightly fluttering at each  Syllable of his name. 

“Niles…rawritch.” 

The other mothers son bared his teeth at you, but it did not perceive as a threatening way or one in warning as he made a noise that was slightly higher pitch. You watched him carefully however, if he showed displays of aggression you will only show them back to him.

“Miles Quaritch.” He babbled in that strange strangle of noises of a language. 

“Niles. Orritck.” You repeated the words back to him watching how he shook his head

“okay..Okay let's work on one at a time yea…yea..” He blabbered out his strange sounds again before he moved his hands to his hips, one of his strange feet tapping on the ground.

“Mmmmm..” He started slowly and you watched his lips as they moved of the strange sounding words  “My llzs”

“Miles.” He announced it once again slower and you found his voice strange. 

“Miles..” You spoke slowly watching him bare his teeth more into a grin snapping his fingers and pointing at you.

“Yea, that's it..atta girl.”  as he babbled once more, seeming eager making you grace him with more of your teeth as well. 

“Now yours again.” The other mothers son, ‘miles’ spoke to you pointing his fingers at you. 

“‘ Y/n Aysara daughter of Eyvira.”’ You told him, watching him carefully as the grin fell. 

“...Gonna need a little more help there..” He babbled. 

“‘Y/n.”’ You told him slowly as he did with his name, It took him several more tries and you found yourself amused much like he had moments ago.

“Y/n..?” He said your name slowly as if it was stuck on the tip of his tongue rather than gliding off of it but it was close and you granted him a nod. 

You watched him nod back and glanced around the strange cave you found yourself in with him. He babbled out more of his language and you watched him sharply as he moved once again, staying away from you something you deem respectful, perhaps his culture was the same in cherishing one's vision. Seeing as he stayed at a distance from you even if the strange cave forced you both in each other's visual paths except for the small cubby he backed into to bring water to you. You watched as he moved warily towards his cave's strange decor and he moved to grab something that flashed with dull light in his hands. Though you could faintly see his hands through it, you listened to him babble some more.

“Let's see if this works okay, Y/n.?” 

You did not understand him but he had said your name again which made you perk your ears to him and tilt your head his way. 

“Can you understand me?” He babbled and you flinched as another male's voice started speaking, this time one of the people. How could that be? 

‘“Am i clear to you?’” 

You jolted your head to look around the cave for another you had not seen, but amongst the men's strange collection of things scattered around there was no one. 

“‘Who said that!?”’ You snapped turning to look at him. Another voice came suddenly. It was female and it babbled in his language.

“Who is speaking?!” 

‘Miles’ moved a hand up to you in that way he did to show he was of no threat. 

“Calm down, It's just us in here, I'm just speaking through this so we can understand each other.” He babbled and the thing he held flash before you heard the second male's voice.

‘’‘Settle low, Just us here, I speak through this so we know to each other.”’ 

You paused and looked at what he held in his hand before bringing your hand to your chest.

“‘You  hear me?”’ You asked him, feeling emotions bubbled up your chest and throat as the thing in his hand made its noises to him, you watched how his lips peeled back into a soft smile as he spoke into and with the thing he held.

“‘Yes, I hear you.”’ 

This wasn't how he thought his night shift would go. He had expected a night sitting alone messing around with his holo-tablet and  periodically walking around the Mining operations site. Not sitting across a destroyed room his back against a wall facing a Na'vi woman across from him hsing the tablet translation app to have a half assed conversation. Yet that was exactly what he was doing. The Na'vi, Y/n has made herself comfortable near the door sitting on her knees as they both relied on the tablet to speak butcherly to one another. 

He asked his questions and she answered, adding on her own.

When he had asked ‘how did you get here?’ She had responded with ‘Eywa showed me the way.’

‘Where do you come from?’ was met with the very vague and equally puzzling ‘The glows.’ 

“The glows?” He asked typing in her answers in a note document on his tablet. 

He listened to her thicken Na'vi tongue and the tablet relied on what was probably a glitched out response to what she said. 

“My home.” 

Miles simply typed into his tablet her answer.

Y/N 

Stange Na'vi subspecies, four ears, two queues, two tails, normal amount of arms and legs. 

Her stripes glow and cast dim lighting. 

silver's eye and light affects them ... .Blindness? Perhaps nocturnal like the Night Na'vi. 

Got into the operations site, got into the watchtower.

Region- The glows whatever the hell that is. 

“Why did you come here y/n?” He asked the question that was eating him and looked through the hologram screen at her. Watching how her face flashed emotions onto it as she looked at him with a look that was convinced, no that she believed what she was going to say. 

“Hei kimi i a koe” 

The tablet flashed her words in English as the Ai spoke the translated words.

“To find you.” 

He raised a brow and looked at her staring into those silver eyes with his one iced blue ones.

“Why?” 

Your ears twitched as the tablet translated what he spoke back to you and you shifted moving your hands as you spoke.

“Hei whakaako i a koe ki nga huarahi o te iwi penei i a Eywa e muhumuhu mai ana ki ahau.”

His eyes moved from hers back to the tablet reading the translation before the Ai had a chance to speak it.

‘To teach you the ways of the people like Eywa whispers to me’

You had left at dawn before the pandoras sun rose and he had watched you from the watchtowers window as you moved towards one of the mining machines finding one of the holes the drills had dugged ages ago deep into the pandora crust. There you had vanished and when he rushed down the steps and flashed a flashlight down the hole he was met with darkness. 

He had not asked you why him.. Out of everyone on the base, why it was him you felt so sure to have to teach but rather the question of how you were going to teach him. 

He only got a few words translated from the tablet before moving and pounded on the door with the rush words of ‘home’ coming across the screen and he hurried to open the door before you freaked out once more. 

But one sentence still burned into his head as he clocked out of his shift and headed back to his unit where Paz was still most likely asleep in their bed.

He should really go to Dr.Augustine about this, a new subspecies of Na'vi pops up and she and her research team would be better trained and prepared to make contact and communicate to them, to you. But the thought of telling the doctor did not sit right on his shoulders. 

You had come to him, even if he did not believe your whole Eywa guided you story, You found him, not the doctor. 

You had talked to him while skeptical at first like himself that skepticism turned into a rush of excitement as the barrier block between you two was lessened. 

He should follow RDA protocol and report this. Put it out of his hands and simply follow his job, but you had told him how you expected to teach him. 

‘Sneak you to the glows.’ 

And after seeing you vanished into an old drill hole, Quaritch had a rough idea now where The glows were. 

And he had a tendency to have a thrill of learning things the hard way rather than discovering things the easy way.

—

Translations

Kare au e marama ki to arero- I do not understand your language 

Ko wai Koe?- Who are you?

Ko tou ingoaahau (Ingoa ahau)- I am yourname. (Your name.) 

“me to ingoa?” - and your name?

Hei kimi i a koe- To find you

Hei whakaako i a koe ki nga huarahi o te iwi penei i a Eywa e muhumuhu mai ana ki ahau.- To teach you the ways of the people like Eywa whispers to me

[princess-of-anons]

It is Worm Time once more

At long last, the color version of Gordon’s Worm Form is here! As mentioned in a previous post and on the ref, the pattern is based somewhat on the HEV Suit. Unlike Benrey, Gordon’s worm form has a unique ability provided to him by his experience with the mini-gun hand: Devil Claw Mode!

Obviously, Devil Claw Mode is derived from Devil Gun Mode, but they are pretty similar in name only. Devil Claw Mode allows Gordon to use his claws to attack for devastating results. These claws will only inflict damage if Gordon intends to harm you with them, and if you DO take damage, the pain will be brief but will feel overwhelmingly like your body is both burning and freezing at the same time.

Below are pictures of the normal claws (left) and the Devil Claws (right). Gordon can deploy them at will and has often kept them on, knowing they won’t hurt his friends, because he likes the glow.

I also have a couple Freeworm sketches, plus some Benrey and the Smol Worm Mode. After unlocking Worm Mode, both men have the option to combine the Worm Mode with the Sizeshifting abilities that Benrey has previously displayed to create HLVRAI Worm Off the String. There’s no limit to how big or small the worm form can be, but after a certain Smallness threshold it takes up less “resources” to just make the worms a single color instead of maintaining the color pattern; both this and the noodle arms can be turned on and off at will if they REALLY want to keep their peculiar markings.

Just like last time, I have a transparent version of Gordon Worm and a “lights out” version underneath the read more

[mayamidnightmelody]

In the vast expanse of the cosmos, where stars twinkle like distant diamonds and the void of space is a canvas of infinite possibilities, a lone rocket ship glides silently. Its sleek, silver hull reflects the glow of a nearby moon, casting an ethereal light over an alien landscape below. This is a place where adventure thrives and danger lurks in every shadow.

Captain Jack Daniels, a seasoned astronaut, crouched behind a cluster of alien mushrooms, his ray gun aimed steadily at a formidable foe. His space suit, a pristine white accented with dark straps and equipment, clung to his muscular frame, designed for both protection and mobility. The suit’s material, stretched taut across his body, emphasized his athletic build. Through the transparent visor of his helmet, his eyes, sharp and focused, tracked the movements of the reptilian behemoth before him.

The creature was a sight to behold: a towering, dinosaur-like alien with blue, spotted skin that shimmered under the moonlight. Its red eyes glowed with a menacing intelligence, and its maw opened to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth. Draped in a regal red robe adorned with golden accessories, the alien exuded an air of barbaric nobility, a king in its own right.

In one of its massive, clawed hands, it held Lieutenant Sarah Blake, a fellow astronaut. Her own white space suit was dirtied from the struggle, but her spirit remained unbroken. She kicked and struggled, her eyes filled with defiance, even as the alien aimed its own ray gun at Captain Daniels. Her suit, too, was impossibly tight, outlining every curve of her body and highlighting her strength and determination.

Lying prone in the foreground, another figure added to the drama. Clad in a golden bikini and skirt that sparkled against her tan skin, the woman appeared to be a captive or perhaps a recent victim of the alien’s wrath. Her long, red hair spread out like a halo around her head, and her expressive eyes flicked between the battling forces, hope mingled with fear. Her near-nudity, a stark contrast to the high-tech gear of the astronauts, added a layer of sensuality and vulnerability to the scene.

“Hold on, Sarah!” Captain Daniels shouted, his voice steady despite the tension. He adjusted his grip on the ray gun, taking careful aim at the alien’s weapon.

The alien hissed, its eyes narrowing as it shifted its gaze between its captives and the determined astronaut. It bared its teeth in a grimace, revealing more of its terrifying fangs, and tightened its grip on Sarah. The tension was palpable, a high-stakes standoff in an alien jungle filled with towering, pink-flowered trees and bioluminescent fungi.

Above them, the sky was a tapestry of celestial wonders. A massive moon, pockmarked with craters, dominated the horizon, while countless stars dotted the blackness. Among them, strange, colorful planets hung like ornaments, adding to the surreal beauty of the scene.

A silver rocket ship, sleek and futuristic, hovered in the distance, tethered to one of the pink-flowering trees. It was a beacon of hope and a reminder of the technological marvels that had brought the astronauts to this alien world.

In a sudden burst of movement, Captain Daniels fired his ray gun. The beam of energy sizzled through the air, striking the alien’s weapon with pinpoint accuracy. Sparks flew, and the creature roared in pain and fury, dropping its gun and loosening its grip on Sarah.

Seizing the moment, Sarah wrenched herself free and landed a swift kick to the alien’s midsection. She somersaulted away, rolling to safety beside Captain Daniels. Together, they trained their weapons on the now weaponless alien, ready for whatever came next.

“Nice shot,” Sarah panted, her breath coming in quick bursts. Captain Daniels flashed a brief, tense smile.

“Let’s get back to the ship,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the alien, which was now retreating, nursing its wounded pride and weapon. “We’ve got what we came for.”

The two astronauts moved quickly, helping the woman in the golden bikini to her feet. She was shaky but unharmed, and she clung to Sarah as they made their way toward the waiting rocket ship.

As they hurried through the alien jungle, Sarah noticed the woman’s delicate condition. Her attire, or lack thereof, was not suitable for the harsh environment. Without hesitation, Sarah offered her own jacket, providing some modesty and protection.

Al Williamson and the Raypunk Genre This tale, filled with daring heroes, menacing aliens, and exotic worlds, is the essence of raypunk—a subgenre of science fiction that captures the retro-futuristic visions of the mid-20th century. Raypunk stories are characterized by their imaginative and often whimsical depictions of advanced technology, space travel, and alien encounters, all infused with a nostalgic charm. Raypunk and planetary romance frequently feature tropes such as daring rescues of damsels in distress, sensuous elements, and the ever-present danger and excitement of alien worlds. The aesthetic is heavily influenced by the pulp magazines and early comic books of the time, with an emphasis on vibrant colors, dramatic action, and exotic settings. Al Williamson, the artist behind the scene described above, was a master of this genre. Known for his detailed and expressive illustrations, Williamson’s work often blended realism with the fantastical, making him a perfect fit for raypunk. His dynamic compositions, meticulous attention to detail, and strong sense of storytelling brought these otherworldly adventures to life. Williamson’s art was heavily influenced by the pulp magazines, early comic books, and serial films of his time. His illustrations defined the visual language of raypunk, influencing not only comic books but also films and television. Through his work, Williamson captured the excitement and wonder of space exploration, the thrill of encountering the unknown, and the timeless appeal of heroic adventure. In conclusion, Al Williamson’s raypunk artwork is a vivid reminder of a genre that continues to inspire and captivate. His illustrations are more than just pictures—they are stories that transport us to distant worlds, invite us to join daring adventures, and remind us of the boundless possibilities of the imagination. The sensuality, the peril, and the tight suits are all part of a tapestry that celebrates both the human form and the extraordinary potential of futuristic storytelling.

[huffle-dork]

Swap Across the CrystalVerse Chapter 12: The Facility

Read Swapboys | Crystal’s AUs| JSEFacility

Read SITCV | SATCV Masterpost | AO3 Link

Alt lands hard on the ground. He's in front of a row of doors with numbers on them--a motel, one of the ones where the room doors open directly into the outside. It's really run-down looking, with peeling paint and stains on the ground. A cracked asphalt car lot holds only a couple cars. The sky is alight, pink and orange with either sunset or sunrise. Distant traffic noises come from somewhere. It's not clear where, as the only sign of other civilization is a road heading left and right. 

Alt pushes himself up and groans, rubbing at his head. He looks around the area and cringes a bit. He recognizes a place like this… cheap motel for a quick rest on a dirty bed that probably smelt like cigarettes. He glitches to his feet and glances around the area, trying to see what else is around. He’s not eager to stay in a place like this.

Suddenly, someone leans through the nearest door. Leans through is the right way of putting it, as the door doesn't open at all and the figure passes straight through it. The figure is transparent, reminiscent of the ghost Chase they just saw, but completely monochrome instead of that strange white-tinted coloring. Even though the figure is a bit blurry and flickering, some details can be made out. The man has a thick mustache and is wearing a T-shirt over a button-up shirt. 

Alt screeches in surprise and slight fear as he glitches back, away from the figure. He stares with wide eyes at him and blinks rapidly, trying to process what he’s seeing. That’s- JJ.

The monochrome man’s eyes land on Alt and he smiles in a friendly way, giving a little wave before pulling back into the room.

But then he just- disappears back into the room. Alt just kinda stares at the door- wondering if that was an… invitation or just a coincidence.

After a moment passes, the door opens a little bit, just wide enough for a person to appear in the gap. It's a guy, with brown hair pulled back into a small ponytail, wearing a baggy red hoodie and a blue bandanna around his neck. His eyes are green. And there seems to be a slight green glow coming from the room, too. 

"Uh..." he says. "Where'd you come from?"

Alt glitches a bit in place and waves stiffly. “Uh- hi! I uh… kinda just… fell here. It’s a long story… sorry though, didnt mean to uh… loiter.” He blinks at the green light behind him and slightly points. “…I’m assuming you know your room is glowing-“

The man tenses a little. "Y-yeah, yeah, I know. Uh... hi. Hi. Um..." He looks back into the room for a moment, and then turns back to Alt. "My friend is saying you should come inside. So... come inside?"

Alt looks around and turn slowly nods. “Um.. alright.” He gingerly steps through the door, smiling awkwardly.

"Alright." The man steps aside. 

The room beyond is small, with just a little bit of walking space in between the two beds, the night stand, and a small table. At the back are two ajar doors, one leading to a closet and one to a bathroom. The patterned wallpaper looks like it's from the 70s or earlier, and has some water stains on it. 

The ghostly JJ is still there, and he waves at Alt again. Along with him and the man in the red hoodie, there are two others. A man with square glasses, wearing a blue turtleneck and a pair of gloves. And a man wearing a snapback cap and red scarf, the ends of his brown hair holding the remains of yellow-green eye. That man is holding a toy dart gun in both hands. He also has... scars all over his arms. Straight and regular. There's also one crossing his eye and one crossing his neck. Wait a minute? Where's the green glow coming from? ...Oh. It's coming from the guy in the red hoodie, who hurriedly closes the door. 

Alt’s eyes widen as he takes in all the people in here. JJ, Jackie he’s guessing opened the door and… that looks like Chase. So many scars… does he have as many as Bro? Or even more? 

"So," says the man in the turtleneck, fidgeting with his gloves. "Who are you, then?"

“Oh um… I’m Alt. Alt Brody? I’m a magician… from another world.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets and fidgets nervously.

"Another world?" the man in the hoodie repeats. "You mean like in comic books? So that's real?" 

The man in the turtleneck frowns. "Does that make sense?" 

"I mean... we've seen weirder stuff," the man in the cap says slowly. 

It's true, the ghostly man says. He and his friends appeared out of nowhere and they'll disappear just as suddenly. 

"I trust J3 on this," the man in the hoodie says. 

"It is just a bit hard to believe," the man in the turtleneck says, doubt clear in his voice. "What if this is a trick?" 

"I don't think it's any harder to believe than the rest of our lives," the man in the cap mutters.

Alt looks at the man in the turtleneck. “I mean… it’s not a trick. I’m from a parallel world… one where… I’m friends with people who look a lot like all of you.”

Alt looks between everyone as they talk, getting more and more confused. “Wait… how do you know we’ll … do that?” He asks the ghostly man. Then he looks to the hoodied man, “J…3?” 

"That's J3," the hoodied man points at the ghostly man. 

The ghostly man waves. He reaches up to his neck, grabbing the collar of his shirt-- 

"J3!" The man in the cap hurriedly steps in front of him. "We can't just--" 

J3 steps right through the man and shows Alt something. A tattoo on either side of his neck. A series of letters and numbers. 

J3110. 

And I know it will happen because I'll be there when it does, J3 says. 

The man in the turtleneck sighs. "You are just confusing him more."

Alt staggers back, eyes wide as he sees J3 step through the other man and show his neck. He’s at a loss for words. It’s like… a brand. “C-Can… can you see the future…?” He asks quietly.

J3 nods. In a way. I don't exist in just one time at once. I know it's hard to understand. 

"You just have to accept that he knows things sometimes," the man in the cap says. 

Alt blinks a lot more at this, “…woah. That’s… insane.” He says to J3. 

"You said We're friends in another world?" The hoodied man smiles and looks around at the others. "Do you guys hear that? We're all friends in another world!" His excitement is almost contagious.

Alt’s head whips to the hoodied man and he blinks almost comically at his enthusiasm. He laughs quietly. “Y-Yeah… you are. Are you… not friends now…?”

"Well, I think we are!" the man in the hoodie says. "I mean--we're sort of new to it. We didn't have that much time to get to know each other." 

The man in the turtleneck chuckles. "I think we are friends, yes. Even if M is being a bitch right now." 

"I'm just so happy to hear that we're still friends in other places," the hoodied man says, beaming. "We don't know an 'Alt' right now, but maybe we'll meet you someday!"

Alt can’t help but smile. “Well… that’s good to hear… I mean to be fair… I’ve only known my friends for like… a year or so? Maybe two? So… I get it.” 

Alt does seem to cringe a bit at them not knowing an Alt and grips at his arm. “I mean… do you … know an Anti…?” He asks quietly.

"Anti?" the hoodied man repeats. "That's a weird name. I mean--no offense." 

Alt laughs and shakes his head, “None taken. I made it up when I was like 4.” 

The man in the cap blinks. "That's... what A called himself... one time." 

The man in the turtleneck looks back at him. "What? When did you hear him say that, C?" 

"While we were leaving. Wh-when me and J were alone with him for a while." C swallows a lump in his throat. A moment passes. 

"Well that doesn't mean anything," the hoodied man says firmly. "Alt here is clearly different. He's not trying to stab us."

Alt listens to the others and sighs, “that’s what I was afraid of… my parallels in other places seem to be very… stabby. And fucked up.” He tries to process all of this and then looks up at everyone. “Wait.. do you all… just go by letters? All of you?”

"Heh. Unfortunately." C pulls away the scarf he's wearing, revealing tattoos reading C1104. "This is all we really have to go off." 

The man in the hoodie removes his bandanna next. J1007. 

Then, reluctantly, the man in the turtleneck pulls down his shirt, revealing H1509. 

"I'm J1, by the way," says the one in the hoodie. "J is someone else."

Alt seems to pale slightly, looking at all their tattoos. “N…no way. You guys don’t… even know your names?? Just a letter? H…how? How did that happen?”

"Well if we knew that we'd be calling each other our names," C mutters. 

J3 sighs. There is... a company in this world. A corporation. They like to control unusual things. Including people. But people prove hard to work with, so they remove their memories. 

"J3 was only a partial success, though," H says. "Due to his... state." 

But even though I know more about the world and what happened, I don't know any personal details of who I was before, J3 clarifies.

Alt looks heartbroken for them, his chest aching. Seeing versions of his friends reduced to just… letters and numbers. Things to control and… experiment with. Just like how SCLERA saw him and chase…! 

He’s quiet for a couple beats before he softly says, “…I could tell you… I could tell you your names. If… if you wanna know…”

The group falls silent, their eyes going wide in shock. None of them were expecting this. Even J3 seems a little surprised. 

"I... are you sure they are the same?" H asks. 

“Pretty sure…” Alt says. “I’ve been… to a lot of parallel worlds. I know all your faces. Every name has been pretty much the same…” 

C fidgets. "Um... s-someone called me... something once. It might... be true... So... I don't think it's fair that I might know and you guys don't." 

J1 takes a step back. "Um... I-I don't... I..." He shakes his head. "We should all be here when you do that. M and J aren't here, a-and only J3's shadow is." 

"And... it is strange, but... it feels like cheating," H says. "Perhaps... you can offer again, later. Perhaps things will be different then."

Alt nods but he looks… uncomfortable. It’s so strange to be around people who just… don’t even have names. “‘Course- wherever you guys want.” 

Alt does knit his eyebrows together though, “Okay then… random question. If this is J3 and you’re J1 … who’s J2?”

"Oh, there's not one," J1 says. "There's just J, J1, and J3." 

"They are nicknames derived from our subject identifications," H says, indicating the neck tattoos again. "There was never one starting with J2 at the facility." 

"Which is weird," C says. 

No, because the numbers are dates, J3 say. It just means they didn't pair up a J with someone they brought in on a 20th of a month. 

"Ohhh. Still weird. But less weird."

"Ohhh okay.... that makes sense," Alt says. He looks around the room again and then asks, "...so... why are you all just- holed up in a motel room? and you said that ...M and J weren't here? Any idea where they are?"

The group exchanges uneasy glances. J3 leans against the wall, waiting for others to do the talking. 

Finally, C sighs and sets the toy gun down on the night stand. “We… escaped from somewhere. A facility run by this corporation J3 mentioned. Th-they’re still looking for us, so we’re hiding from them. And running. We… needed somewhere to sleep, so…” He gestures around at the room. 

"Oh..." Alt mumbles quietly. "I'm... so sorry. I... kinda know the feeling but... not as bad as you guys have it." 

“J got left behind,” J1 says quietly. “He’s still back there. W-we we’re talking about going back for him. But, uh, when we brought it up…” 

“M started acting like a little bitch baby and left,” H grumbles. “He took the van we were using, too. J3 went with him—which I know is confusing considering J3 is right here—” J3 waves. “—but think of him as a version from the future, and our current J3 left.” 

“I mean… I don’t blame M for freaking out,” C says. “But still. Did he have to take the van?”

Alt sighs and rubs his head. "Well... it was nice meeting you all but... if you're in hiding I don't want to expose you all... I need to find my brother and my friend... and a dangerous man who's been brought with us here."

“A dangerous man…?” J1 says. “Ooo! We can help! We’re like—we can be superheroes, yknow?!” 

J3 nods. I know where your friends appeared. 

“Of course you do,” J1 laughs. “Where?” 

With M. 

“Of fucking course,” H mutters.

Alt blinks in surprise. "...that is like- super freaky. But... helpful!" He laughs. "If you guys wanna help... I'm all for it. Hey- maybe we can get you your van back." 

“Love to get the van back,” C mutters. “I don’t think M knows how to drive. I think I’m the only one.”

He then turns to J1 and studies him. "You said you're... like superheroes? What can all of you do?"

“Ooo! Well I am super strong!” J1 bends over and easily lifts up the end on the bed. 

“Careful, do not make too much noise,” H says. 

“I’m careful!… these days.” J1 gently sets the bed down. “I can also be pretty fast but I have to build up to that speed. And I glow, obviously, and I make people less sad! And then H can heal people while touching them, and C can’t die, and you know about J3’s time thing, and M, when we find him, can do a ton of stuff, he can move stuff without touching and make things suddenly appear and disappear and heat up things—well I guess it’s just those three things when you boil down to it—” 

“Jeez, J1, give him some space to talk,” C laughs.

Alt looks impressed and he laughs shaking his head. "Don't worry I'm used to that. Ch- My brother and... my friend are just like that. But, awesome! That'll all be really helpful. The dangerous man- his name is Magnificent... he's a dark magician from my world that is constantly looking for power and he doesn't care who he hurts to get it. Though hm... I dunno if what you guys can do counts for what he's looking for..."

"Ooooo, a magician," J1 repeats, looking excited. "It's really like in the comic books!" 

"Well, uh, if we don't count, then we might be helpful," C says. "It means he wouldn't be targeting us? Maybe?" 

Alt chuckles at J1's excitement. So much like Jackie... "Yeah... he uh... also goes after his parallels... which I'm pretty sure is M so... best we find them." Alt says quietly. 

"In any case, if your friends appeared near M, we need to find him," H says. "J3? Where did you guys go?" 

Turn right when leaving the motel and head straight that way, J3 says. And then, abruptly, he disappears. 

C blinks. "Just when the shadows start giving you good information, they fade away every time. Well. At least we know where to head."

Alt blinks too as J3 disappears and then laughs, "Guess that happens a lot then."

"Yeah, they don't tend to stick around," J1 says. "The actual guy does, who we'll meet soon if we're finding M." 

"Great. Let's go, then." H heads into the bathroom, reappearing with a small black bag slung over one shoulder. "We don't have much to take with us." 

"Yeah." C walks over to the closet and grabs a backpack from the floor inside. "Do you think we should be worried about M? If this Magnificent guy is going after him, I mean." 

"M can take care of himself," J1 says. "I think he can handle his own. Not sure if he'd win, though... so that's why we're going." 

"Hope you do not mind walking," H says to Alt.

Alt chuckles, "I mean... I can try to glitch us- but I dunno how close I can get if we don't know exactly where he is..."

J1 looks confused. "Glitch...?" 

"Do you... appear and disappear?" C asks. "Like--teleporting? And it looks all, uh, pixelly and stuff?"

Alt laughs and then glitches from one side of the room back to where he was, "Pretty much yeah~!" He smirks.

"Ooooo!" J1 gasps. 

"That can come in very handy," H agrees. 

C tilts his head. "A could do that too... but I think it mostly traveled through, like, electrical systems and stuff. And you can... take other people? Huh." 

"I can... kinda do that too. But, I try not to do it too often... messes with my brain and shit." Alt says, hunching up in his hoodie. 

"But we do not know where he is, so I do not think we could go right there," H says. 

C sighs. "You're right. We're gonna have to walk." 

"It's gonna be a nice day, though!" J1 says cheerfully. "So let's get to it!" 

Alt chuckles, "Walking's fine. Let's get going then."

----------- 

Bro and Jackie fall together, landing in a patch of tall grass. It looks like it's around sunrise. On one side of them are some scraggly trees forming a rough forest. On the other side of them is a long single-lane road. A van has pulled off the side of this road, parked directly on a dirt spot by it. It's a white van that looks like it had a logo once, but which was covered up by household off-white paint.

Bro groans and rubs at his head, blearily looking around at the surroundings. 

Jackie lays on the ground for a minute, sighing. "Dude... I'm so tired. I think after this I'm gonna sleep for like ... a week." 

Bro chuckles, "Maybe you'll actually fix your sleep schedule this time." 

"Doubtful." Jackie smirks and then pushes himself up. He looks around, squinting. "Why the fuck are we in the middle of nowhere?" 

"Near a freaking- creepy van too..." Bro comments, pointing it out. 

"... I hope they don't offer us candy- or a puppy." Jackie tries to joke.

The doors at the back of the van open up, and a man hops out. He’s wearing a white button up shirt underneath a blue T shirt, and has a thick mustache. His eyes land on the two of them, and he freezes. 

Then immediately climbs back into the van and closes the doors again.

Bro and Jackie blink at the sight of the man and watch him climb back into the van. They're silent for a second. 

"...that looked like Jay." Jackie says. 

"No yeah 100%." Bro replies. 

"...should we... I dunno... knock?" 

"I dunno- what's proper etiquette for trying to enter someone's van?" Bro makes a face, "...Now I sound like Jays." 

Jackie giggles.

The man doesn’t appear again. Nothing else moves.

After a bit of waiting, Bro finally sighs and gets up, moving towards the van. Jackie trails nervously behind him. 

Bro hesitates, then knocks on the van door. "Uh- hello?" Bro tries to call.

Suddenly, the van door bursts open again. A different person stands there, a man with shoulder-length hair wearing a loose long-sleeved shirt. He glares at Chase and Jackie. His eyes are strange. Normal blue, but with strands of white light dancing across the surface, like sunlight through water. 

“Don’t fucking talk to me C, J1!” he snaps. “I don’t care what you say! I’m not coming with you! I’m not going back! Sorry that you wasted the trip out here, but fuck off!”

Bro and Jackie both step back with wide eyes. 

Bro puts up his hands in a calming gesture. "Woahhh! Hey I uh- dunno who those... guys are? But- not them! I'm Chase- and this is my friend Jackie? We uh... saw someone we thought we recognize go into that van and so we uh... wanted to see?"

The man pauses. His eyes flick over the two of them, taking in the details. And he starts to look confused. He turns over his shoulder and looks back into the van. “It’s not them,” he whispers, too quietly for Jackie’s non-super ears to pick out. “I don’t know. Are they going to hurt us? Well go check!”

Bro tilts his head. He calls, "We're not gonna hurt you! We just... wanna know where we are. And uh... well- see if you guys can help us? We need to find some people but we're kinda lost?"

The man tenses, looking back at Bro. “Wha—no, you didn’t hear that! You didn’t hear that!” He suddenly closes the van doors. 

Bro balks as the door gets slammed in his face.

"...I think these guys might be a tad bit paranoid-" Jackie whispers. Bro tries to hide a laugh.

Then, a moment later, the doors open again, and now the man from before is in front while the second one lingers in the background. 

Can you understand me? he asks in sign language. 

Bro perks up as the first man pops back in. He nods, "Yeah I can! We both can understand sign language." He gestures to Jackie who is still lurking behind him, almost like a shy child.

The first man sighs. I’m sorry about my friend’s reaction. He’s not good with people, and you look like some guys we know who he argued with. If we can help, I’d like to. You’re looking for someone?

Bro deflates in relief and he smiles. "Yeah... we're looking for my little brother. Andddd someone... not so great. A villain. Tho we did just drop in so... I don't think he's gotten into too much trouble yet." He sticks his hands in his pockets. "We just... need to know where we can go to start looking for them. Cuz- I dunno where the hell we are."

We’re sort of isolated right now, the man says. But there’s a town back there. He points down the road. 

“The town’s called Mooridge, I think,” the other guy mutters. He brushes back his hair absentmindedly, and for a moment, the guys catch a glimpse of some sort of black mark on his neck. A tattoo of some kind. 

We haven’t seen anyone else, the first one says. But it is early in the day. We were asleep for a while. We could have missed someone.

"Ah, that makes sense." Bro nods. "Well- sorry to disturb you both. I guess we'll head that way." 

Jackie looks at Bro and then tugs on his jacket pulling him back to whisper to him, "What are you doing? Shouldn't we be... I dunno- sticking with these two? They're... kinda our friends. And they know how this world works!" 

"They clearly don't want to be around anyone, Jackie! I'm sure we can manage on our own..."

The two in the van stare at Bro, and the first looks at the second. 

“Can you check?” the second asks. “They’ve already seen my eyes.” 

The first one nods. And something flickers. It looks like a copy of him, monochrome and blurry, walks away from him and fades into nothing. Then another one of those copies comes back and walks over to him.

Bro and Jackie stop their conversation to stare wide eyed at the blurry copies coming and going off the first man. 

"...am I hallucinating?" Jackie breathes. 

"Nooo I see it too. W-What the hell?" Bro whispers. "Uh... w-what are you... checking, exactly?" 

I hope you’re not offended by this, but I was checking to see if you were telling the truth when you said you wouldn’t hurt us, the first man says. 

“And?” The other prompts. 

They’re not. 

The other man breathes a sigh of relief. 

The first one sits down, legs dangling out of the open doorway. Are you two really from another universe? 

“Wha—” the other man chokes in surprise.

The swaps exchange confused glances but kinda just shrug it off- until the first one asks his question. Bro and Jackie also choke slightly- eyes wide. 

"How... How did you know that??" Jackie asks, flabbergasted.

You’ll talk about it a lot in the future, the first man says. 

“J3, are you sure this is safe to talk about?” The second man asks. 

Yes, I trust the three of them.

"You can see the future??" Bro gasps, then smiles, "Just like Jair! Oh- that's really cool! ... I don't think you're an oracle though-" 

"Ohhh yeah!" Jackie blinks at the first man and then sheepishly smiles. "Well... since you seem to know so much about us and trust us now... can we get your names?"

J3 smiles sadly. Unfortunately, we don’t know our names. Our memories were lost. So we call each other nicknames. 

Bro and Jackie look shocked. “You don’t even know your names…?” Bro whispers in sympathetic horror. 

The second man sighs. “I’m M. This is J3. You are Chase and Jackie. Glad we’re all introduced.”

“Oh… well… n-nice to meet you then, M… J3…. Why the 3?” Jackie asks.

Because we know two others who also started with a J, J3 says. 

“You know even more people who don’t know their names?! And they- they look like us??” Bro looks absolutely flabbergasted. This whole situation… it’s making him feel… weird. And uncomfy. And he’s not sure why… 

Unfortunately, J3 says. Four others, to be exact. 

“I… thought you were one of them…one of the Js,” M mutters, glancing at Jackie and then looking away. “Thought him and someone else we know had come here to try and… talk to me. Convince me to do something.”

“Ah- that explains the yelling then,” Jackie says, crossing his arms. “Immm guessing you all split off?”

M fold his arms. “They wanted to do something stupid. Well if they want to do that, fine, I’m not going with though and they can’t fucking make me.” 

They might be mad that we took the van, though, J3 says.

“I mean- I’d be mad if someone took my car.” Jackie comments. 

Bro knits his eyebrows together, “…what did they want to do?”

"They wanted to go back to that place!" M snaps. "Back to the place we came from! The place where they--where we were--" He shudders, looking to the side. "We were... stuck in this... this facility. A-and the people there, they--they--" And he stops again. 

It was not a kind place, J3 signs slowly. But one of us got left behind in the confusion when we escaped. The others wanted to go back for him.

Bro's eyes widen. That... sounds like what Alt told him about... about that place- SCLERA. He shudders and holds his arm. Then, after a beat he says, "...M-Maybe... we could help. We could help you get him back?" 

Jackie looks at Bro like he's crazy.

"What?! No! We're not going back there!" M shouts. "I-I don't want to--I really don't want to--I--" He turns around and walks farther into the van, disappearing after sight. 

J3 watches him go with a sad expression. Then he sighs and turns back to the other two. I do think we should go get our friend, but... M's experience there was... terrible. I don't blame him for not wanting to go back. But I don't want him to be out here by himself, so I'm staying with him. But... we may be able to help you find YOUR friend, maybe?

Jackie nods, “That’s a good idea. We’d really appreciate that. We don’t wanna get too much into things that don’t involve us.” He slightly nudges Bro. 

Bro glares at bit at Jackie but then slowly nods. “Yeah… okay. We need to find my brother, Alt. …god I hope he didn’t end up in this- facility place…”

Hold on, I can check where he appeared, J3 says. Another one of those monochrome shadows stands up and disappears. He nods. You said his name was A-L-T? He didn't appear there. He showed up with our other friends. 

M comes back just in time to see this. "You're fucking kidding."

“Heyyy that’s handy!” Jackie grins. 

Bro sighs in relief. “Okay… at least he’s safe. Can you… help us get to them? Even if… you don’t wanna see them. Sorry, M.”

M groans for a long time, staring up at the sky. "Fine," he finally says, shortly. "Get in. I'm driving. We can meet them halfway." He climbs out of the van and walks around towards the driver's side door. 

Thank you! J3 says. That's so kind! 

"Yeah, yeah."

Jackie laughs. That was such a Marvin-ism. Takes him back. 

“Thank you!” Bro calls too. Then him and Jackie climb into the van.

The area in the van is mostly empty. There's a pile of clothes in the corner and a handful of blankets and pillows in the center. Clearly a crude sleeping area. Sitting on top of one of the pillows are three plush animals. A purple llama, a rainbow elephant, and a black and white seal. Part of the llama's fur is a bit burned. 

As soon as the two guys are in, J3 closes the van doors, leaving the area dimly lit. 

M pushes open a window that connects the main body of the van to the part where the driver sits. "J3, can you hand me Lia?" 

J3 nods. He picks up the llama plush and passes it to M though the window. 

"Thanks." M takes it. A moment later, the engine starts up.

Bro and Jackie look around and then try to find a place to get comfy. Bro sits up against the wall of the van. Jackie sticks close by. 

Jackie smiles when he sees the stuffed animals and M grabbing one. “aw those are cute. Remind me of one’s my daughters have. Do the other two have names?”

"Yeah well I'm not a child!" M snaps. Then he pauses. "Sorry. That was... you weren't implying anything. Didn't mean to shout." 

Another pause. "Ella and Seth. That's the other two. They're... very important to me."

Jackie blinks in surprise then laughs nervously. “Oh.. well- those are nice names! I’m… um- glad you have them.” 

“They’re very cute.” Bro adds with a smile.

"Thanks. I think so, too." M slowly turns the van around and starts driving down the road. 

Slowly. J3 knocks on the window. You can go a bit faster, you know. 

"Oh, but last night you were complaining about me going to fast." 

There has to be a middle ground. 

Jackie laughs, “yeah- that middle ground is usually called the speed limit.”

"You know, I don't think I drove a lot before this," M says. "This all feels new. C was driving us before, he said that driving felt familiar. I don't feel that." 

C came from somewhere else, like H did, maybe people over there drive more than here, J3 says.

“…are you saying you haven’t driven before??” Jackie asks, suddenly nervous. “I-I have my license if you’d like! I could drive just steer me in the right direction!!” 

Bro chuckles, “Hey they’ve gotten this far- seems like he’s at least decent.”

"I-it's just a straight line, it'll be fine," M says. "But, uh. You could come up to the passenger seat if you want. And tell me how I'm doing."

“…yeah sure why not. Practice for when my kids get older I guess.” Jackie mumbles. 

Once the car stops he makes his way over to the passenger side and hops in. Bro tries his best to hide his laughter. 

M nods at Jackie as he climbs in . "Good to h-have you here," he says, suddenly a bit nervous. Lia the llama is sitting on the drink tray between the two seats. The driver's cabin is pretty generic... except for the world 'AMBREL' stamped across the dashboard. "Now let's keep going." He puts the van in gear again and keeps going. 

Still a bit slow.

Jackie smiles encouragingly. He watches for a while before leaning over, “You can step on the gas a little bit more. Try to press with just the front of your foot instead of putting your whole weight.”

"Just the front... okay." The van lurches forward for a moment before M figures out a good speed. 

Jackie clings to his seat in slight for a second before he gives M a shaky thumbs up. “That’s good!” 

There's someone else who came from your universe with you besides your friend Alt, right? J3 asks. I heard him talking about someone else, and you mentioned someone earlier. 

Bro blinks at J3’s signs and then nods. “Yeah… there’s also a… a dangerous guy here. His name is Magnificent. He’s a seriously messed up dude- who can do all sorts of messed up mental magic and like control people.”

J3 shudders. We know something like that. They called it A1010. It can put people in a trance or make them see things. But it prefers to be more... direct. 

"Do you think A1010 is still at the facility?" M asks J3. 

J3 nods. 

"Well in that case, at least we won't have to worry about him as well as this Magnificent guy."

Bro shudders, "Yeah,,, I'd hate to have to deal with two people like that... Mag is bad enough." He can't help thinking about the King and Mag working together. Yeah he'd really like to avoid that if he can.

----------- 

Magnificent appears in a room that's entirely white. Walls, floors, ceiling, all white. But the lighting is red, so it's all bathed in crimson. A single door leads into the room, made of metal and halfway slid open. The main feature of the room is a glass wall. Or, three, actually, making a room within a room. Inside the glass is a set of furniture, like you'd find a bedroom, all generic and metal. Cameras are scattered across the area outside of the glass, on the ground and on tripods, cables connecting them all to a corner of the room where the plaster has been torn away, with the cables feeding into the resulting hole.

Magnificent awoke as they fell and so he falls into the room and has to push himself up, his face aching. He growls and bares his teeth, "Fucking... Brodys- both of them! I'm gonna rip that hero into fucking shred-!" He pauses as he realizes where he is and his stomach slowly drops as he pushes himself up to his feet. "W-What... what is this...?" He breathes. Then, his anger spikes and he throws himself at the glass, trying to break out of it.

The glass is surprisingly--unnaturally, in fact--sturdy. 

"Um..." A man pokes his head out from around one of the furniture pieces--the free-standing wardrobe. He's wearing a black hoodie, and the sclera of his right eye is bright green. "Who... are you?" he asks timidly. "How did you get in here?"

Magnificent screams in rage, ready to strike again when the voice gives him pause. He straightens up to look back at the other man and tilts his head. He narrows his eyes. "...You can call me Magnificent. As for how I got here... I have no earthly idea. Usually the device doesn't put us in such... situations." He glares up at the ceiling and crosses his arms, trying to hide how unnerved he really is. "... suppose the universe is having a laugh at me." He then sighs and looks back at the man. "Who are you? What is this place?"

"I'm, um... J? J0702. That's what they call me." The man pulls aside the edge of his hoodie, showing that sequence tattooed on his neck. "This is... a facility, I guess? The location is called JSE2012. I-I don't know where it is. Sorry." J gives a small, nervous laugh. "You... got in here with a... device?"

Magnificent makes a face seeing the man's tattoo. "Huh... a facility." He then snorts and waves his hand, "Yes- some device my cub picked up. It takes us from our own world into others. Appearing in a new world is random... hence... my being... here."

"You're from another universe?" J asks. "I... guess I've heard weirder. There are probably things to help you travel to other worlds here." 

Suddenly, the sound of static fills the room. Red lights start blinking on all the cameras. 

J tenses, staring in horror. "Oh god." He scrambles backwards, glancing around wildly for somewhere to hide. The closet isn't deep enough for him to fit. There's a chest, but it's also not big enough for a grown man to fit. The only real option is the attached bathroom, which is just big enough for a toilet. 

"I--If you can get out of here, you should. Or--if you can hide somehow, you should."

Magnificent raises an eyebrow, looking back at J. "And... why is that?" He glances at the cameras and bares his teeth at them. He could always try teleporting out of here.... how did he forget that? He blames Fantastic for scrambling his brain.

A mass of black stuff pours out on the lens of a camera, something grisly. It glitches, breaking into green pixels and broken static. 

“Because of that!” J says, running into the bathroom and sliding the door closed. The mass pours onto the ground and then rises again, forming a humanoid shape. And then the figure shifts, turning into… a perfect image of Magnificent himself. Well, almost perfect. The right eye is dangling from the socket.

Magnificent still looks confused then watches the camera thing glitch and- "What the hell?!' He growls at the copy and lights magic in his hands, baring his teeth. "What kind of joke is this?!"

"You see your own face and think it's a joke?" The other him laughs and tilts his head. "That's not a good way to think of yourself." He walks up to the glass, pressing his forehead against it. "Have you trapped yourself in there? Are you too afraid to try and get out?"

Magnificent snarls at the copy. "I can get out just fine!" He tries to teleport out of the glass to attack this cheap imitation!

He can teleport out just fine but- he ends up barreling past the copy and skids on the floor. He seems temporary relived there was no magic barrier or anything keeping him in.

The copy laughs, twisting around to look at Magnificent--first the head, then the torso, then the legs. "You're not that smart, are you?" it says. "Never have been. And not as powerful as you think. Otherwise you wouldn't keep getting knocked out every time you fight someone in these worlds. Maybe you're just a bit... o̴u̕t̴ ͟o̢f̶ ̀y̢o̕ur͠ ̨dep̛th̶.̕"

 A knife appears in the copy's hand and it rushes for him.

Magnificent makes a disgusted face and staggers back. Then, he yells out in rage and tries to block the copy's attack but he gets sliced across the arm. He grunts then whips out to blast fire its way.

The copy screeches as the fire burns him. He loses concentration, dropping Magnificent's appearance and returning to a black skeletal look. He crouches close to the ground and shifts again--now looking just like that man from before, J0702. Still with that dangling eye, and with the addition of a slit throat weeping blood. He looks up at Magnificent and laughs. "Always so blunt. Except for when you're not, and even then, you are." 

The air behind him flickers, glitches and colored static running together, forming... a spiral.

Magnificent backs up more, watching this thing with wide eyes. "W-What are you?!" He cries. He then watches at the spiral forms- but soon enough he growls, not being pulled into its thrall. He starts to laugh madly, "Fine! You wanna copy each other?! I can do that too!" He spreads out his hands and an array of magic knives appears above him in an arc. He shouts and sends them all flying at the creature.

The creature glitches wildly, avoiding most of the knives--however, a couple hit him, and he screeches again. He disappears and reappears inside the glass wall. And, smiling, he gives a smug little wave. "You ask me what I am? I am ▒A░n░t░i▒, and I am the only one like me in this world."

Magnificent hisses at the creature then laughs, "You call yourself that then? Pity- I know far greater Antis then you. Ones that don't cower behind glass."

"Cower...? Do you think it matters to me where this body is?" All at once, the cameras in the room turn towards Magnificent. Electricity sparks along the cables, turning the floor into a minefield. "This facility is mine now," A hisses. "You will not escape it." 

He reaches up towards the lights in the ceiling. His form becomes electric and disappears up into it. The half-open entrance to the room shuts and clicks, sealing itself closed.

"What?!" Magnificent gasps, he tries to run towards the door- seeing if he can try to teleport out of it-! He can't be trapped here, he can't!

He appears on the other side of the sealed door in a long hallway, all with equally sealed doors. There's a hole in the ceiling, through which dangle wires and metal parts sparking with electricity. The ceiling creaks, like something heavy is moving on top of it.

Magnificent tries to keep his panic back as he rushes forward, trying to look for another way out.

Every single door is sealed shut. The only ones that aren't are ones that aren't all that important, leading to janitor closets or electrical rooms that are so full of loose electricity that he can't step inside at all.

"No no no!" Magnificent hisses. Okay... maybe there's... power around here? Something he can use? He tries to look around for any source of magic or power nearby.

Yes, there's power all around, though it feels slightly different than what he's expecting. It's hard to describe. Like someone was recreating a recipe but got the ingredients slightly wrong. It's mostly... above him? On the higher floors of this facility.

Magnificent purses his lips at this. But, at least it gives him a goal. He stops his running and tries to teleport up higher.

The next floor up is exactly the same as the one below--though some of the walls are knocked down, revealing large, featureless rooms beyond. 

And inside one of those rooms, a large creature is moving...

Magnificent tries to focus but... what is that thing? He... He's too curious not to get a closer look. He approaches the creature with a tilted head.

That thing turns out to be a giant animal. A raccoon, to be specific, The thing is about ten feet tall, sniffing along the edge . There's a collar wrapped around its neck, on which is written, in massive letters, S1707. It raises its head, looks at Mag, and growls.

Magnificent is startled by the raccoon. "What is the world??" He asks and then shakes his head and looks around for that source of power.

There are several sources around... and the closest is, indeed, the raccoon. But the second closest comes from some way down the hall. It seems like it's actually two sources close together.

...he doesn't want to chance being mauled by a raccoon. He heads towards the other two sources.

In one of the smaller rooms with the walls broken, there's... a cat. A cat right in the middle of the room. It's a very fluffy white one, and it's batting at a ball of purple string. Seems like the power is coming from both the cat and the yarn ball. Oh... it's such a pretty cat, too.

Magnificent inherit love of cats has him softening slightly at the sight. He chuckles and starts to approach the cat, kneeling down close to it and offering it his hand. "Well.. hello there beautiful!"

The cat looks up at him with big green eyes. There's a collar around its neck with the ID W3012 on it, along with a small black box. It meows gently and bats the yarn ball towards him. It misses, and just keeps rolling. It's unraveling... and unraveling... and unraveling... the ball doesn't look any smaller but the string trailing from it is now about ten feet long. Heh. How funny.

Magnificent watches the ball roll with increasing concern. "What... the fuck...?" He shakes his head then tries to pet the cat.

The cat sniffs his hand, then flicks her tail and sits down, purring, allowing herself to be pet. For some reason, Magnificent is reminded of something... Some time when he last felt... content... 

How long ago was that...? 

...too long. It's been far too long. 

Since he became... this- he always yearned for something more. For power... for magic.. for souls. Contentment isn't something he's used to anymore. 

So... the last memory that comes up into his head is... uni. He's sitting in the living room, excitedly telling Jackie about a new spell he learned as he works on a costume for class. Jackie is laughing, his cheeks red and Mag feels his own cheeks flushed, having an easy relaxed smile. ...how long has it been since he smiled like that? 

He gasps and pulls away from the cat, feeling a... wetness in his eyes. He trembles back from her, his voice caught in his throat.

"Aw... isn't that s̀w̕eet̛?" 

The cat's head snaps to the side. It yowls and suddenly bolts. Away from the figure who suddenly appeared. 

The black, skeletal figure that soon transforms into... Jackie, just as he looked in that memory. 

Magnificent stiffens and then scrambles away from the creature- but his breath is taken away as he sees Jackie. Just how he remembered him. 

But that cruel smile ruins it. 

"You know you can't go back there," A whispers. Blood starts to leak from his eyes as they roll back in his head.

A choked noise comes from Mag’s mouth at A's words. But, then he growls and shoots a bolt of magic at him. "I know I can't! I-I don't need to!"

The bolt hits Jackie square in the chest and he screams, falling backwards. He lands hard on his back, the front of his shirt burned and smoking from the impact. "M...Marvin...?" he breathes. "Wh-why...?" 

And then he breathes out and stops moving.

Magnificent stands there, frozen, his hand still outstretched. He feels like he can't breathe. Part of him knows- knows this isn't Jackie- but the other part of him, that part of his heart that still beats- still convinces him he's human- its screaming. 

He backs up, another choked noise of confusion and suppressed pain escaping his lips.

Moments pass in silence. Jackie lies there, unmoving. 

Until... "Fascinating," a voice whispers behind him. "I thought you were heartless."

Magnificent shudders and then moves to slash behind him, breathing heavily. "S-Shut up! S-Stop messing with me!"

His claws scrape across A's chest--once again in the form of Magnificent himself--and he falls backwards, laughing. "But it's so fun, isn't it?!" he shouts, still laughing. "And you'd better get used to it! Because you'll be here for a while." 

And then his body disperses into pixels and disappears.

Magnificent huffs, a mix of rage and sudden exhaustion. He takes a second to compose himself, breathing deeply. Then, he rubs at his eyes, growling to himself. He shakes his head and goes to move forward... he needs to find a way out of here.

[headcanontheshitoutofsoulsborne]

Bloodborne Chain 5

We are still on the chain game and we made another Bloodborne Chain. This is already the fifth one. We actually got ten people to participate, so we have five fics and five pieces of art! I hope you guys enjoy! Original prompt: The doll's hands get broken and Hunter fixes them. @scribble-writes-science-fantasy (can't tag, but that is their blog)

The Lady and the Hunter

A Short Story

Based on the 2015 video game Bloodborne, by FromSoftware

Prologue

The Doll quietly turned over the crystal in her hands. It was of a pure white coloration, with small circular engravings, which looked like open eyes. Both ends tapered off into a jagged point. 

“Darling Hunter, might I ask where you acquired this?” The Doll looked down at the Hunter, sitting quietly on a stone bench. Siofrin, servant of the Doll, and member of the Choir, beamed at their miss’ question, adjusting their spectacles knowingly. 

“Would you like the short version, or the long one, m’lady?” Siofrin pulled out a small leather-bound journal, no doubt brimming with an account of their most recent expedition outside of Yharnam. Now that the Hunts had seemingly ended, and the Beast Scourge no longer affected the city as a whole, trade and travel had reopened slightly to other parts of the world. 

Smiling, the Doll placed the intricate prism back in Siofrin’s gloved hands. “Whichever one you prefer, dear.” 

The Doll wrapped her hands around Siofrin’s head as the Hunter quietly lay in the tall grass, reading from their journal. Siofrin gave the prism back to the Doll, who held it loosely. 

Elster was renowned for its manipulation of prisms and light, said to have constructed powerful weapons that could bisect beasts in two with lasers of moonlight. The prism had been gifted to Siofrin when they had ventured there on a whim, desiring to go outside of Yharnam, and to somewhere closer to home. 

A scholar by the name of Dahlia had given the Hunter the prism, and gone into a lengthy discussion about its usage as a channeling device to speak with the Great Ones, with no fear of madness.

Dahlia had expressed some suspicion at Siofrin, due to being part of a rival academic group, but had bid them a cordial farewell as night slowly fell. 

The prism suddenly emanated a piercing wail, and the Doll’s hands violently snapped backwards. 

She did not scream, but merely fell to the ground in shock. Her slender hands were now torn asunder, wooden panels blasted off, revealing intricate gears and springs inside, with transparent tubes of a blue fluid now shattered and leaking. 

There was a pain on Siofrin’s left cheek, a jagged patch of burning flesh, the pain of which Siofrin failed to register. 

The Doll stared at Siofrin. “My hands…”

Siofrin took a few steps back, unsure of what to do. “Miss! I- What.. must I do?!” They stood, frozen, staring at the Doll’s blank expression. 

“Darling.. The parts to fix my hands will not be found in the physical world. I was created from an eldritch blessing, by a Great One. You may not be able to mend my hands at all.”

Siofrin stammered in shock, picking up the still-warm crystal. The small eye carvings glowed with a blue light. 

“I’ll go to Elster. Their Great One made this crystal. If I can get back inside their Academy, I can commune with it.”

The Doll mournfully looked at Siofrin. “Good Hunter.. The price to your sanity may be too great when communicating with such entities. Are you certain?”

Siofrin nodded. 

“Then, go. May you find what you seek, in the waking world.”

A shimmering circle of light opened around the Hunter’s feet, and darkness overtook Siofrin’s vision. Why? Why do they insist on endangering their frail form for my well-being?

Chapter One: The Hunt, in Elster

Elster was a city of walls, and light. Three concentric, circular walls, brimming with defenses. The first two walls had weaponry that prickled outwards, harpoons and cannons, as well as the occasional gatling gun, all augmented by prism-lasers, massive spikes of clear crystal with iron bands that swiveled them around to fire beams of searing flame.

The third and final wall had defenses that could swivel inwards. This was the wall that was manned on the night of the Hunt, and it was to terminate any who showed signs of beasthood with extreme prejudice. 

Rather than fight with heavy melee weapons like Yharnam, Elster opted instead for ranged weapons, volleys of repeating rifles, cannons, machine guns, and prisms, all with silver bullets to kill any beast, no matter how large. This ensured no blood would be spilled, and thus, the infection would not spread.

The first wall loomed ahead, a thing of dark gray stone, with large white crystals floating on the parapets, their sharpened edges facing outwards and downwards to the wide cobbled road below. Dusk was approaching as the sun fell into the sea, creating a flowing, ethereal explosion of pink and orange hues. 

Siofrin noticed men in white grasping jagged objects high on the ramparts, sitting in swiveling turrets bristling with guns. They stared down wordlessly, but the dozens of weapons constantly swiveled to follow Siofrin.

A guard, armored in a shimmering suit of plate armor adorned with smaller crystalline clumps, stood in the center of the gate, beckoning Siofrin to come closer. Only her eyes were visible, for she wore a white mask and pointed metal helm. In her hands was a large rifle with a sparking, squarish protrusion where a magazine of musket balls would normally be, and a pointed metal spike tapering off at the end of the barrel.

The guard’s muffled voice commanded Siofrin to halt. “What do you require, stranger? This is the night of the Hunt. A common one like you should not be outside the walls.”

Quietly, Siofrin whispered to the guard. “Communion with Ygralith.” Siofrin then revealed the badge of the Hunters in their other hand.

There was a rustle of hasty whispering. The guard reappeared, her mask down to reveal a slight, pale face. She spoke hastily, with a conspiratorial hint. “They told us one of you Hunters would come. We have no issue with your kind, but if you’ve got any ties to the Choir, the Academy will butcher you. That’s all I can offer you.”

Stepping aside, the guard gestured to let Siofrin enter. “I don’t know much of what you Hunters want, but if you can survive Yharnam, Elster should be a cakewalk. You’d want to seek out the Academy of Xanthas. Be warned, though. We don’t have governance over the Academy’s grounds anymore.”

Siofrin nodded, thanking the guard. The two other walls were much the same, spaced widely. By the time Siofrin had made it past the checkpoints, dusk overtook Elster, and for the first time in years, the moon glowed with a malevolent bloody light. 

One final guard, who introduced herself as Adeline, spoke cautiously to Siofrin. “The Great One hasn’t spoken to any of the Xanthas scholars in a long time, and with the blood moon they’ve undoubtedly locked up the place even more. We welcome all who wish to ascend in our city, but I hope you’re aware of what that entails.”

Siofrin was acutely aware that the badge of the Choir was tucked away in their pockets. Before them, the pale red moon shone brightly. The cobbled streets of Elster were wide and straight, and the architecture, ornate and gothic like Yharnam, was adorned with dozens of glowing white crystals. In the far distance, Siofrin could see a stately building, adorned with a tall lighthouse that glowed with a steady white light.

Rows and rows of roving men walked near, some nodding in respect at Siofrin’s Tonitrus, the experimental mace’s silvered ball head sparking with the same electricity on the guards’ rifles, while others whispered to their comrades, shifting their gazes whenever Siofrin noticed the stares.

A bell rang in the far distance, and every soldier began to sprint to the sources of the piercing howls and sounds of snapping bone and splintering flesh.

Let the Hunt begin. 

Chapter Two: Road to the Academy

Siofrin sprinted, keeping careful watch on how the infantrymen of Elster conducted their war against the plague of beasts. As the first group approached a looming Scourge Beast, they formed into a tight formation, tossing flaming bombs to drench the wolf-like monster in flame, before firing rapid bursts of electricity that burned away flesh and bone, turning the intimidating foe into a charred skeleton.

A man in the early stages of transformation, with a backwards-bent rib cage charged at a group of armored Elster soldiers, and they responded in kind, holding out shards of crystal which grew into translucent shields of light, the beast crashing onto the wall of force before another group surrounded it from behind, plunging spears into it from a distance before activating gun barrels built into each pole, blasting the creature’s head wide open, gore and tainted blood splattering harmlessly on the shields of light, never touching the soldiers themselves.

As the soldiers backed away, a terrible scream emanated from far off, past the huge iron gate that sealed the Academy Ward from the rest of the city. Distant windows glowed brightly with a scarlet light, and screams began to slide, like a flowing river of blood, as house after house was breached. 

A young woman with blonde hair pulled into a bun swore. “It’s never been this bad before! That bloody moon must be making these things stronger!” The human-sized beast which the soldiers had previously felled rose up from the dead behind them, and Siofrin lept into action, blasting the monstrosity back with a pistol shot, and then caving in what remained of its flailing body with the sparking Tonitrus, burning flesh and bone. 

It did not rise again.

The woman thanked Siofrin, nodding with approval-and, the slightest hint of apprehension- at the newcomer’s rapid speed and dexterity. The party continued on, with mutterings from additional soldiers that the Xanthas Scholars must have summoned something bad, given the howls and shrieks coming from behind the massive gate.

As the group approached the massive, intricate gate, Siofrin was shocked to discover a group of huddled scholars, dressed in ornate blue robes and holding ramshackle weapons sparking with electricity, wafting embers of fire, plumes of toxins, and other things. The closest one to the gate, a man with long, silvery hair and sharp red eyes, implored the soldiers to open the gate.

He spoke with a quavering shudder, bloodshot eyes darting back and forth in a plea. “Please, you’ve got to! The others-they summoned something horrid! They’re using the entire Academy Ward as a testing ground! Let us out!”

The scholar shrieked in terrible fervor, and the Elster guards nervously agreed, watching the thin robed forms flit away through the gate to some form of sanctuary. Weapons were checked, and Siofrin was given the offer of a peculiar shock-pistol, which they gladly accepted, still keeping the Tonitrus close at hand. 

The moon glowed with a malevolent scarlet light as the howling of beasts grew to a terrible crescendo, and the ancient gate creaked open, revealing the massive doorway of the Academy.

Chapter Three: Nightmare of Xanthas

At the entrance to the Great Hall of Xanthas, a large sigil had been daubed on the wooden doors entering the main hall. The wet, scarlet substance glowed unnaturally, and had been deftly applied with microscopic sigils inside a great circle.

A white-robed soldier, holding a book and a crystal dagger in her hands, approached the ritual circle, plunging her dagger in the thick wood, and softly whispering as she held out the large, aged tome. 

The red substance flew into the dagger, tainting the white stone scarlet. The mage quickly pulled the dagger from the door and placed it back into her sheath, and the other soldiers pushed open the two massive doors, grunting with exertion.

Inside, the Hall was dark, with red light streaming through the ornate stained windows. Tables and chairs had been placed to block entry- or, prevent something from exiting. 

Silence reigned supreme for a few seconds.

A thousand red eyes flashed in the inky blackness, making noises that sounded human, but vaguely, terribly wrong, wails and groans and growls echoing through the massive chamber.

They wore the ripped, torn uniforms of the Academy, shambling forth with the legs of birds and beasts, the gaping eyes of deep-sea creatures and the muscular, predatory claws of hounds, the flesh on their faces stretched unnaturally to accommodate their new, terrible transformations. 

Siofrin blasted a thing that had once been a woman, her eyes and mouth sprouting with writhing tentacles, blood trickling from ruptured orifices. The electrocution staggered and shocked the thing, its digitigrade legs collapsing. Siofrin smashed the thing’s semblance of a head in with a disgusted blow.

The Elster infantry set up a firing line, and slowly marched and shot their way through the long hall, filled with twisted aberrations. A man, letting out a terrible groan as he staggered into view, chest cavity surgically removed and replaced with a thing of twisting roots that jerkily puppeteered his flailing body, wailing in terror as he made futile attempts to regain control of his broken body.

Siofrin put the student out of his misery, incinerating the monstrosity with a jolt of vibrant electricity.

A soldier drew Siofrin’s attention to a doorway at the side of the hall. “The storage basements are inside here, Hunter. It’s the fastest way to reach Ygdalith’s chambers. We’re going to scout out the rest of the Academy, and halt the ritual the scholars planned.” She stared at Siofrin, eyes wide with fear. “It’s never gotten this bad before. Please, end this.”

Siofrin nodded. “I’ll try.”

The heavy door to the basement opened, and the Hunter’s lanky form was quickly swallowed by the darkness. 

They quickly activated the Tonitrus, filling the stairwell with flickering blue light. The ornate wooden stairs turned slowly to chipped, mossy stone, until the entire tunnel smelled of salt, and damp seawater, with the walls, stairs, and roof being of a white marbled stone that softly pulsed with light.

Different caverns and small rooms were seen as Siofrin walked down the stairs, with some doors locked with iron chains. Whispers and muffled thumps sounded from dozens of black onyx caskets in niches lining the walls.

There was a humming that grew in frequency as Siofrin approached the bottom of the stairs. A pool of inky black water prevented ingress, and it appeared that the stairs themselves fell off into the void of the sea.

A whisper flowed into Siofrin’s mind, an urgent, deep sound that flowed into all of the crevices of Siofrin’s being. It was like a million voices, all speaking at once, each voice cold and harsh, with pointed, sharp inflections.

ENTER.

Siofrin stepped into the inky darkness, feeling the cold water flow over their form. They held their breath nervously, but soon exhaled, a rush of fear coming over them. The dark water was lit with small pinpricks of flickering light, and the stairway finally ended, halting at a simple wooden door, with a rusted iron knocker.

Siofrin lifted the knocker, and it fell with a heavy, echoing thud against the ancient, mottled wood. Silence reigned for a moment, until the door opened inwards, revealing a chamber. 

Chapter Four: The Radiant Crystal 

Seeing a wall of absolute darkness before them, Siofrin lifted a gloved hand, seeing it go through the seemingly impenetrable barrier. The voice spoke yet again, goading Siofrin on. 

LOWER YOUR WEAPONS. YOU WILL NOT NEED THEM.

Despite all thoughts to the contrary, Siofrin felt their hand slacken, dropping the Tonitrus, which disappeared into the swirling darkness.

Once again, the Hunter walked into the gulf of darkness, and as they walked through the ink, pinpricks like multicolored stars appeared in the pitch black, filling the infinitely wide space with shifting hues that Siofrin was certain were not meant for human eyes. 

A massive crystal stood, silent in the void of space. It was white, with marbled layers, and studded with twitching eyes that rolled silently to lay upon Siofrin. The sharpened points of the crystal each had a steady beam of blue, sparking energy piercing the darkness, stretching both upwards and downwards into forever.

The Great One spoke, its voice sounding like a form of judgment, a final speech before the end of the universe, the end to which it was the executioner. 

WHAT DO YOU REQUIRE?

Siofrin spoke then, feeling so very small, and very.. immaterial, as if their very form was fraying at the edges, flesh, blood, bone, muscle all being eaten at and reformed by the grasping darkness beyond all rational graspings of the word time.

“My Lady… her hands. Only you can fix them, as she dwells in a place outside of time, a place of dreams.”

The great crystal rumbled once more, in response. YOU SPEAK OF THE DREAM. WE UNDERSTAND. WHAT WE GIVE, YOU MUST RETURN. TIE YOUR SOUL TO XANTHAS, SO WE MAY GRANT THE POWER TO FIX THE CARETAKER OF THE DREAM.

Siofrin remembered a quiet night, in which the Doll had simply and calmly spoke to them as they lay, tired and broken in her arms. The price may be too great, darling.

No. No price is too great for her. I must do this.

Siofrin stepped forwards, into the beam of light. A million voices roared as the violently sparking energy enveloped the Hunter’s frail form, spectral images of radiant hues appearing before them as flesh was removed, and replaced. There was a brief feeling of pain, which dissipated just as quickly.

A vast voice whispered silent instructions in Siofrin’s mind, a perpetual, constant presence. ASCEND THE HUNT. FINISH THE CELESTIAL WAR.

Violent images flooded into the <FRAGILE MIND>

Images of the <GREAT ONES>

THE BETRAYER, <ODEON>

THE ETERNAL CURSE, SO WE MAY BE FOREVER CHILDLESS

THE SINGULAR TIE TO HUMANITY

THE TIE THAT BRINGS EVERLASTING SORROW

NO MATTER WHAT WE DO, HUMANITY SUFFERS

HUNTER. END. THE. CYCLE.

The light filled Siofrin’s vision, and all fell silent. 

-X-

Siofrin awoke on the cool cobblestones of the Dream. They slowly pushed themselves up, staring at their hands. They were smooth, with jointed seams, made of a plain white material that quietly rang as it touched the stone.

Just like my miss’s hands. 

The Doll was sitting on a small bench, her form utterly changed. Pale, living flesh had replaced the wood and metal. She stared at Siofrin with sorrow in her eyes, and her voice was very thin. “Oh, my darling. I am sorry.”

She slowly wrapped her warm hands around Siofrin, and wrenched off the Hunter’s cap, revealing the raven-black, long hair underneath, holding the Hunter’s head in her lap.

Siofrin spoke, their voice quieter than before. “M’lady.. Do you enjoy your new hands?”

The Doll felt her face wet with soft tears. “Yes, darling. Thank you.”

Outside, in the furthest reaches of time and space, waits something immeasurably ancient. Something cold, and dark, and filled with something akin to conspiracy.

It sees the Hunter, marked with the Sigil of Rebellion.

It sees its brothers and sisters, willful traitors all in its enigmatic, alien mind.

The cycle must not be broken. The power gained from Humanity’s torment is immeasurable. And yet.. This Hunter, who sacrificed a portion of their own humanity out of an emotion as meaningless as love… 

…The Watcher in the Dark sees this mortal, a frail flame against the inky dark. 

It will see it snuffed out. In time.

The End… For Now

@yharnam-everchase

@sputnstuff

EXT – HUNTER’S DREAM NIGHT TIME

The Doll stares serenely at the flora of the Hunter’s Dream as peace and quiet takes over the area and not a single peep, not even from Gherman who sleeps near the large tree, is heard from anywhere. But the serene silence doesn’t last longer as a large beastly roar is heard from the tombstones. The doll stands up and heads over to check who just arrived and she sees a human wearing a leather outfit with a cape, but their face is one of a human with large fangs and large and unkept hair, looking more like they’re turning into a feral beast. Their right hand is carrying a claw-like weapon and the left is a proper beast-like claw. A growling expression covers their face as drool comes out of the seemingly angry beast-like hunter. The Doll cautiously approaches the Hunter calmly.

DOLL: Welcome home, Good Hunter.

The Beast-like Hunter stares at the Doll and calms themself down, if slightly, at her sight. They approach her carefully and start to smell her like a beast would. The Doll attempts to pet their head but quickly withdraws her hand when they look at her hand.

DOLL: You look different, What happened to you?

A question that is unfortunately left unanswered as the Hunter is seemingly unable to answer due to their now beastly appearance. They do however, grab the Doll’s hand, smelling it for a bit. The Doll, despite the emotionless expression, seems to sound weirded out by the beast’s behaviour.

DOLL: So you wish for me to channel the echoes into you?

The Beast-like Hunter looks at the Doll, it seems like they understood what she said as they kneel down while holding her hand with their beastly hands. The Doll is still unsure about the state of her hunter.

DOLL: Very well, then close your eyes and…

The Doll pauses, is it really a good idea to give this hunter the strength of the echoes? They seem long lost. Should she get Gherman and have him take their life? But so far, the Hunter has yet to so anything that warrant the need to get old hunter. She sighs and covers the beast’s hand with both of her own.

DOLL: Very well, let the echoes become your strength. Let me stand close, now shut your eyes.

The Beast-like Hunter does what they’re told and a bright shine emanates from the Doll’s hands as the echoes are channelled onto them. As the shine dissipates, the Hunter’s grip tightens around the Doll’s hands.

DOLL: Good Hunter, you can let me go, I have finished…

She is interrupted by the sound of many things breaking, namely her fingers. The Beast-like Hunter’s grip was too tight to her, so much so they didn’t knew their own strength and it ended up shattering their beloved Doll’s hands. The grip is released, and the Doll stares at the damage done and at a hunter who looks like they realised that they’d messed up.

DOLL: This is… unfortunate.

The Beast-like Hunter starts to whimper sadly, like a dog who realised its mistake. The Doll pays no mind to the damage and pats their head with the broken hand.

DOLL: I don’t know what you have received in your hunts, but it seems like you need more time to control your new found strength.

The Beast-like Hunter lets the Doll pet them, still looking sad that they hurt someone, but the Doll’s willingness to forgive them seems to have eased their regrets.

DOLL: At the very least you seem to have realised your mistake. Many hunters have come and gone from the Dream and used me as they’d see fit. You are still among the ones that were kind to me. I know that because your sad eyes are honest.

The Beast-like Hunter looks at the Doll’s eyes, getting back up and caressing her hair, still looking regretful of their actions.

DOLL: I will be alright. Please don’t worry about me and carry on your hunt.

The Beast-like Hunter looks dawn for a few seconds, reflecting for a few seconds before suddenly hugging the Doll. But this hug felt more controlled, at the very least they’re managing their strength better as the Doll isn’t on the verge of shattering. She however, remains emotionless about the hug, not even hugging back.

DOLL: I appreciate the gesture Good Hunter, but now you need to return to your duties. And I shall await your return for when you need echoes to be channelled.

But the Beast-like Hunter refuses to release the hug.

DOLL: If you’re apologising then know that you are forgiven. Now go on, the night doesn’t last long.

But the Beast-like Hunter refuses to release the hug.

DOLL: Please… Release me this instant.

The Beast-like Hunter finally releases the hold and lets out a soft growl as their beastly left hand caresses the Doll’s face.

DOLL: I will be fine my Good Hunter.

But the Beast-like Hunter still feels regretful about its excessive use of its newfound strength. The Doll raises her broken hand and caresses them back.

DOLL: Please don’t cry for me, I will be fine.

The Beast-like Hunter’s eyes look at the floor, however, the Doll has their head turn back to her.

DOLL: Sadness doesn’t fit you, Good Hunter.

They nod as their hand touch the Doll’s, gently this time. The Doll seems unperturbed by that action, despite the state her hand was left in. The Beast-like Hunter, lowers the Doll’s hand from their face, finally ready to return to their hunt, as their face gets a more determined look.

DOLL: Do come back.

The Beast-like Hunter grins before kneeling onto a gravestone and disappearing from the Dream. The Doll stares for a few seconds before returning to the flower garden of the dream, looking over at the peaceful flora, where silence sets back in for another while. The Doll then smiles as she looks at the moon.

DOLL: O flora, of the moon, of the dream. O little ones, O fleeting will of the ancients. Let the hunter be safe, let them find comfort.

@theschneckenhouse

@fateoftheundead

***

THEN

“Does your mouth water, do you thirst? Do your eyes weep tears? I am but curious. You seem a marvel.”

He wasn’t sure why he had even asked these things, seeming silly in retrospect. There was something compelling about her, though…

There were a series of muted clicks as the doll touched her porcelain mask with wooden fingers. There was a wet click as she put a finger in her mouth and tapped on her ivory teeth. She withdrew the finger.

“There is little I can tell about my eyes that you cannot already see, good hunter. What is it you desire?”

***

NOW

Quite a bit, thought the hunter, who was a creature of long-suppressed appetites. In another life he was seemingly as meek and quiet as any other good citizen. It was only after coming to Yharnam and saying YES to the demon, to the darkness, did he finally give himself permission to indulge those appetites, to wear them on his sleeve, so to speak.

A faint motion of the hunter turning his head was followed by them standing gracefully from his crouched position on the flagstones. As he rose a puff of dust filled the air, but it was the reddish-brown of that which makes the roses grow and a man’s life shrink. 

The hunter shrugged out of his filthy coat, letting it fall to the ground, where it was swiftly followed by an equally filthy cap, mask, bandana, and waistcoat. Then his weapons. He stretched with an audible cracking, which sounded more appropriate for an elder. It is not the age of the wagon, thought the hunter, but the distance of its travels.

He walked to the workshop door and opened it, expecting a half-hearted greeting from the resident kook, his legs paralyzed from dotage and injury. The old man was always muttering about how he had once been a knight or assassin while clearly full of shit. Luckily, he wasn’t there, perhaps on one of his wheelchair strolls, pushed by the Doll. It was her that the hunter was most pleased to see, and was lucky to have the chance to clean up first.

Dressed now in a natty suit he had liberated from a scrivener cowering in a corner with total madness, the hunter finished freshening up at a cool basin. He wiped his wet hands on the back of the suit before leaving the workshop.

There, rolling up the hill came the Doll, as he had imagined, pushing the caretaker in his wheelchair.

“Welcome home, good hunter.”

The hunter forced himself to remember what smiling was, then performed it warmly. The Doll responded in kind.

“It is my pleasure to be home.”

“... hib hib, we flushed that beast out thicket. Peppered it. Pepper, you hear?” The old man had become distressed and his words lost all sense. 

“Good hunter, I will return to you after a moment,” said the Doll. The hunter nodded, ignoring the pleading eyes of the old caretaker. 

***

THEN

The caretaker had a name, in fact, but the hunter rarely took occasion to say it. When he had first become a hunter of beasts in service of the workshop, the hunter had been pleased to discover the old man’s modest library among the tables of gewgaws and piles of wood and metal weapons. The hunter had picked a book at random and opened it at the very beginning. It had been titled Lord William’s Light Dragoon Tactics, but that was not what the hunter had wondered about. There, on the bookplate was a stylized beehive, and beneath it: Gregoire du Fonsac. Aremorican, the hunter had speculated.

***

NOW

After a few minutes the Doll emerged from the workshop’s door, pulling it closed behind her, and seemed to glide down the walk to the hunter. She curtsied and then clasped her hands together.

The hunter could stand it no longer. He fell on his knees at the Doll’s feet and buried his head into the front of her dress, the bodice slightly warm. The hunter began to weep.

Cold fingertips rubbed the top of the hunter’s head and before long the hunter was able to release the Doll’s dress and bring himself back to standing in front of her. The hunter reached over and took the Doll’s hand, bending forward to apply a brief touch of mouth to a spot just below a lacy cuff. The Doll beamed, as much as she could within the limitations of her face’s making.

“I had despaired of your return, good hunter. Should you ever leave us forever I do not know that I could bear it.”

The hunter smiled enough for both of them. “I could never do that. What, should I walk off into the sunrise, to never be seen again? I’d sooner have a leg lopped off.”

“Come with me, good hunter. I gave Gregory a paregoric and he sleeps. Shall we…”

“Sleep? I must admit that I too am exhausted. The night has been long, and I see no end in sight.”

“Then let me make you kaldi tea and brandy, and we can spend a sweet hour before you are called back again.”

The hunter followed the Doll back into the workshop where she firmly sat him down in a stout armchair by the fire. Its comfort was exquisite despite the company- du Fronsac sat across from him, mercifully asleep. The hunter contented himself with staring into the flames while the Doll made a pleasantly domestic racket in the other room. The flames… he stirred in the hunter a strange feeling. 

The hunter noticed momentarily how close the old man was to the fire. “Du Fronsac!” His hiss did nothing to wake the caretaker, and neither did a sharp kick at the chair. The snoring continued.

Such a dangerous thing, fire, partially tamed by man, made useful in any number of ways. Still, not perfectly tame, as one might understand by example of the cow who kicked a lantern over in a manger. Then, man had turned fire back towards danger intentionally, attested to by the auto-da-fe, the Salonik fire that sunk entire navies in antiquity, or… The hunter had a momentary memory of the burning hair of beasts, the fatback smell of those who were almost beast. He chased it away with a glug of brandy as the Doll returned with a mug of the kaldi tea. 

She stood by the hunter, rubbing the back of his neck in a strange but soothing lemniscate pattern. Her ministrations and the kaldi tea alike were comforting but eventually he felt invigorated.

“I must go, for now. Here… I forgot this. It is for you.” This was a little ritual of theirs, where he’d pretend to have forgotten a gift for the Doll. He handed over a tiny cloisonne snuffbox he had found in a deserted Yharnam manor. Her face was never prone to strong emotion but the faint smile there now was as valuable as any trinket. As she wondered over the box he stripped down to his small clothes.

“Good hunter… such a gift. So beautiful. I am but a plain doll, unworthy but to serve you.”

“You are more than worthy. You are more than a doll, to me.” He turned to go, for if he lingered any longer he would not leave. “Move du Fronsac away from the fire- I think he is smoldering.”

Once outside the hunter retrieved the pile of hunting garb he’d left. Holding his nose, he slipped into them, hefted his weapons, and left then to go to work.

***

THEN

The hunter had not always been a hunter, of course. He’d been born in Flammenturm, had become an engineer at the royal college, and like so many others had contracted an ailment and gone to Yharnam to seek succor and fortune. He’d had no trouble with the latter, falling into a rough crowd who needed a keen mind and hands to perform some skullduggery- disarming traps, cracking safes, and the like. The former had been a little more difficult.

He had taken a job at a seminary as an engineer and factotum, which would give him privileged access to any potential cure. That took time away from his criminal brothers, but then something happened to shake up everything.

The plague of illness had become a plague of beasts. The hunt began.

All hands had been called on deck and anyone with any particular skill set, or aptitude for violence was conscripted. He had both. The young man- now the hunter- had drunk from a chalice, sworn an oath, and sent to some dreamlike crack in the wall of reality. That was where he had met the Doll.

***

NOW

The hunter set foot on the threshold of the workshop’s open door, passing the old man in his chair, asleep but restless. He was unsure of the caretaker’s role, the more he thought about it. He seemed useless, but perhaps the hunter too had seemed useless once. The hunter forgot all about it when he had taken a stride into the workshop. The Doll was waiting for him, her hands pursed neatly. 

“Good hunter, there is a fire in your eyes.”

He had a fire in his brain, and after the slaying of some ghoulish giants earlier, he’d had an inspiring thought. The thoughts of a madman, perhaps. 

“You once told me that du Fronsac is the caretaker of this place. If he is the caretaker, then let him fulfill his office. He should be able to do his duty without us.” His throat seized with emotion. “Come away with me.”

“With you? Where should we go?” The Doll’s face was inscrutable but it bore no trace of the slight smile he’d come to love. “I am but a doll. Man made me, and I know only to serve. Many hunters have come, and many have gone.” She gestured towards the outside.

There was a graveyard in that direction. Though it was a tiny plot, the hunter had tried counting headstones but was unable to ever finish.

“I am but a hunter, it is true. I was not always so, and with good fortune I shall not be forever. I would never be able to without you. You are more a woman than any I have ever known.”

“I do love you, my hunter. But is that not how I was made to feel?” There was pity in her voice, or something very like it. “I will always be here for you, to embolden your spirit.”

The hunter sighed, and stared at her face. It bore that familiar smile, as if he had never disturbed her with his request. He reached into his waistcoat and retrieved something, then handed it to the Doll.

“I almost forgot. I found this for you.” He pressed it into her hands and she held it up to look at it. A small hair ornament, unadorned with filigrees or stones, but beautiful in its simplicity. He thought it might go well with the Doll’s fair hair. The Doll gasped, and the hunter moved closer, taking the ornament and placing it gently on her head. She sighed deeply and with his face close to hers, he saw a single teardrop fall onto the lace at her breast, where it continued to glitter. 

“What… I… Good hunter, I do not know this feeling.” Her breath had quickened. “I feel as if I am someone else. I wonder at what she feels. Is this desire? Is this joy?”

“You bear a resemblance to one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. A striking resemblance. But she is a pale imitation of you, my Doll. You are you.”

The Doll clutched her hands to her chest as if in pain. “The woman… she yearns. I yearn. Good hunter…” 

The hunter reached out to grab her hips and lifted her into the air, pulling her close. Her layered skirts crept up enough for her to wrap her legs around him as if she was trying not to fall.

“I have you, dear one. I have you.” She held him close, pushing her porcelain face into his shoulder. “Should you wish…” She nodded, and he carried her into the bedroom.

***

THEN

The hunter was sometimes stuck in the workshop as he recuperated from some mortal wound or the other. During the times he was alone he pillaged du Fronsac’s library, both for a mental diversion and to solve the mystery of the old man’s presence there in the strange dream. There were books of natural philosophy, tactics and strategy, and occult topics such as witch-cults and Pthumerian atavisms. So the caretaker had been a soldier, an explorer, an inquisitor? The hunter had amused himself by letting his imagination exercise itself upon the mystery. 

One thing about du Fronsac was definite: he was a libertine.

There was an entire shelf of books on every salacious topic one could think of. A volume of a collected dramaturgy about some lusty maid of distant Aragon. The works of the infamous Barone du Salo. More fascinating, the old man was not just a collector- he had even authored a series of pamphlets on the arts of seduction. 

In the back of one of these books- some sort of ribald journal-  the hunter found a set of technical diagrams that disturbed him more and more as he realized their purpose. On top of whatever else he was, the caretaker was clearly a talented amateur artisan. The diagrams iterated more and more, refining the operation and appearance of their subject. Seeking a perfect form and perfected utility? Du Fronsac was clearly suffering from some kind of mania. 

The hunter replaced the diagrams where he had found them, struggling not to ball them up in his fist and throw them on the fire. He had looked outside then, where the caretaker was babbling inaudibly. A brief thought crossed the hunter’s mind, of grabbing a Carthian khopesh from the workshop’s wall of arms, walking over to du Fronsac and putting him out of his misery. 

He thought of the Doll and tucked the murderous intent away in his mind, where it would continue to seethe for a long time.

***

NOW

The hunter awoke in his bed, from a deep and peaceful sleep. He was warm and peaceful and exhausted. The night had rendered him happier and more relaxed than he had been since he’d left Flammenturm. Perhaps happier than he had ever been.

Recalling more of last night’s events as he continued to awake, the hunter smiled. The Doll had moaned the name of the moon, called out to Oedon, and panted some soft yet desperate sounds into his neck. 

He felt as sessile as a postprandial glutton, though he had pursued a different vice in the night. The hunter sat up after a moment of reverie and put his hand on the Doll’s shoulder, hoping to stir her into wakefulness. His motion turned her towards him, where she settled limply onto her back.

The Doll was dead.

The hunter’s mind was now empty. It seemed to bring on a curious fugue where the previous moment of terror drifted as if covered by a fleece. He could think of nothing for some indeterminate time, before he stopped his listless pacing and sat again on the bed, looking at the lifeless form that had been his Doll.

Not knowing what else to do, the hunter examined the body with his engineer’s eye. 

Her feet were wooden, as were her hands. It was delicate craftsmanship for parts with such demanding and continuous operation. The hunter lifted one leg by the ankle- where the porcelain terminated at a joint, there was a telltale abrasion, where the parts had rubbed before being tipped with resilin gaskets. That was an improvement that had occurred in one of the technical diagrams. 

The hunter stretched the doll’s arms out, revealing the same condition at every joint. He examined her chest, impressed with the craftsmanship in a clinical way that would have been impossible during their assignation last night. The curves of her body were delicate, in comparison to the lewd caricatures of some of du Fronsac’s books. They had been created with a mathematical hand, and the diagrams suggested that the old man’s hand had improved steadily. 

He inspected the rest of the Doll dispassionately. More curves and joints, a staggering amount of detail- hip joints, a navel, and the rest- she even had a womb. The diagrams had made that clear, but du Fronsac’s journal mercifully revealed that he had never taken advantage as he would have pleased.

The hunter tucked the Doll’s arms across her chest and covered her with the blanket. He rose, still unclothed, grabbing the first weapon he saw on the wall, and strode outside. 

“Ahh, dearest Raul, they’re all dead. Dead, dead… ohh, the misfortune.” The old man rasped out more of his nonsense. The hunter cut du Fronsac’s throat, almost severing his head. Dropping the blade, he shuddered in place, losing himself to madness, to a mania, to a derangement… He stood there, quivering and muttering, until he heard a faint footstep behind him. The hunter turned drunkenly.

There was the Doll, with the blanket wrapped around her shoulders and otherwise how he had left her.

“Ahh, good hunter. I must have drifted off. What is it you desire?”

***

THEN

The hunter sometimes thought very deeply about who he was. His appetites- for violence or otherwise, and suppressed or unleashed. As a youth he’d heard the coarsest of opinions on love. Whether from Heidean mercenaries, or university proctors, or landed gentry- the opinion on what a man was and how he should seize his fortune and his desires was monolithic. They spoke of cash and rare tomes and tracts of land, while in the same breath they spoke of their women as if chattel. While the hunter might have affected this attitude to get along, he had never believed in such things. 

Every bit of these experiences, his life, whether in expertise or ignominy, feast or famine… they built up a foundation of the tower he called his identity. Was it a solid foundation? Could it topple?

It was only in moments where the hunt had lulled and he gazed out over Yharnam that he could entertain such bizarre self-reflection. He would have felt a fool otherwise. 

But what kind of man chooses this city and its hunt and its dreams? 

A fool.

***

NOW

The hunter was indeed a fool. 

In shock, he’d pushed the wheelchair and its silent occupant as far into the neighboring field of flowers as he could, before returning to the workshop. He’d thought to grab a spade and bury the old man but before he could, the Doll- now clothed in her usual attire- handed him such an implement without any show of distress, smiling faintly.

The hunter returned to the field and dug as deep a grave as he could, before dumping du Fronsac’s corpse into it and unceremoniously covering it over with earth.

Walking back to the workshop, he had to wonder- what now? He sensed that perhaps the foundation of the dream itself might be held up as if the old man was some tenuous pillar. That pillar was gone and the hunter truly could not imagine what would happen next. 

The doll curtsied as he approached. She did not give any sign that the events of the night had happened at all, and was as friendly and sweet-natured as ever. The hunter did not know what to do. He felt lost- as if he had woken up in a strange and distant country, or as if he had returned to a home that no longer resembled the one he had left.

He really was a fool, to think the things he had thought, to believe that his wants and his deeds were unique. Would he be able to finish du Fronsac’s work, make it become his own and perfect the Doll? What would that look like? Countless hunters had passed through this place. He was no different, and would lie beneath one of those countless tombstones before long. In the moment, however, he could think only one thing to ameliorate the crushing weight of his failure.

The hunter knelt before the Doll.

“I forgot, I have something for you.”  He held it up to her, as if in supplication. She looked at the tiny glittering jewel that had once been a single tear of what might have been a tear of joy.  The doll pushed his hand down and cradled his head, pulling him tight against the bodice of her dress, before stroking his hair. He wept uncontrollably, his body wracked with sobs. 

“Fret not, good hunter. All hunters will find their worth in the waking world.” She looked down at him with the faintest smile and spoke with a pleasant whisper.

“My good hunter. My sweet Gehrman.”

@bornetoblood

@palepious

As the moon hung low and blood-red over the city, the good hunter understood what old Djura had said. Indeed, it were people they had hunted. Just as they were being hunted now. Perhaps deservedly so. Their own ragged gasps for breath almost drowned out the distant ringing of a small silver bell coming closer and ever closer.

The song had started subconsciously. A subtle melody at the back of their mind, ever beckoning and so, so sweet. Perhaps they had listened a little too keenly one or two times. Perhaps they had indulged, the blood had smelled so tempting. In the moonlight, it didn't even look like blood.

And once they had leaped, they dove right in and just let themselves sink to the bottom.

If sin had a flavor, surely it would have been that tangent and irony taste that enveloped their very being and soothed every ache in their body. Before they knew it, their glove had been licked clean. Yet their desire was nowhere near sated. A part of them had known that they had crossed the line, that there was no turning back now. That this was wrong. Still, the rest of them didn't care. It craved more.

Eileen had found them like that. Hunched over their preys' cadaver, mask pooling on their neck while they gorged themselves on the beast's blood. She had said something then, probably something about the hunter having lost their way or not being better than a beast now. Though they couldn’t hear her. It was all just muffled noise, drowned out by the song calling them to act. To attack.

The two hunters exchanged blows only briefly. One of them all bloodthirsty rage and careless violence while the other practically danced around them. Striking only when her target left itself open. Which it did more often than not. Quickly the good hunter's rage blew over into fear, they knew that they could not win this. If they kept this up, Eileen would scatter their guts over the cobblestone and then continue hunting them down again and again until they did not dream any longer.

So they ran. Not unlike some beasts that realized they were overpowered, they barreled down the alley. Pushing and pulling things into their executioners way, anything to get away from her and her cold blades. She called after them. Probably telling them that there was no escape, that she would find them anyway. But they couldn’t tell anymore. It was all just noise.

But now here they were, hopelessly holding onto the filthy bricks of a run-down house's wall in an attempt to remain upright. Saliva dripped out of their open mouth and pooled with the hunter's blood at their feet. The surrounding air was pungent with the scent of their own blood, dripping steadily out of the many cuts Eileen had graced them with in their short exchange. In their haze, the hunter didn’t even feel the miserable state their body was in. There was only the song spurring them to continue on. To run, to feast.

The hunters' breath came in pathetic wheezes as they straightened and attempted to continue running. They had remained long enough, and Eileen was gaining on them. Their attempt was short-lived, as only three steps away from the wall their leg gave out under them, and they fell face first onto the jagged cobblestone. Their cleaver clattered out of their hand and out of reach.

“Look at that. Can’t even hold onto your own things anymore.” The huntress in the black crow's garb almost casually strolled around the street corner. “Come on now, it’s over. Lay back. No need to fight anymore.”

On instinct, the hunter rolled around and tried grasping at their cleaver. Though that plan was exceptionally short-lived as something sharp and cold pierced through their lower back, accompanied by the flutter of feathers and cloth.

“I said lay back. It’s over.”

Finally giving in, the hunter rolled back onto their back, hands splayed out beside their head. Wordlessly, they started up at the faceless crow mask above them. The song was growing ever louder, but in this final moment of clarity, the hunter resisted. If only that were laying still and accepting their fate.

“Pity. I had hopes in you” In a flash of silver the blade went down, effortlessly tearing through the hunter's garb, skin, and flesh. They spasmed shortly, gave a final bloody death rattle, then stilled.

Eileen wordlessly pulled her blade out of their dimly glowing body, wiped the blood on their garb, and watched as the hunter's body fell apart into small silver glowing particles. As it was usual with hunters of the dream. They would return. Whether they would be cured of the madness or still soiled by it, she did not know. But she would not tempt fate to find out.

The hunter's dream looked the same as ever. Clear gray sky illuminated by a false full moon, the little hut crowning the hill in the center with the doll standing at the foot of the stairs leading up to it. Cobblestone dug into their cheek and hands, the way it always did whenever they awoke again. Really, it was all the way it usually was. But it didn't feel like that.

Before, the dream had spread a calming veil over the Aftershock of death. Made it harder to remember the pain and stifle the fear of heading out again.

But not this time. No, the hunter felt each cut and bruise as if it still lingered on their body. Their heart was still beating with agitation as adrenaline pumped through their body.

In a haze, they got to their feet and aimlessly stumbled around the dream.

The soothing melody that had played in their mind on and on whenever they were in the dream was missing. In its place was the same siren song that had called them to devour their prey. To hunt more.

It was quieter now than it had been in Yharnam, they could almost think clearly. But no matter how much they tried distracting themselves by going through their usual dream motions on autopilot, it was still there. They could hear Gehrmans heartbeat from where he sat in the garden. Could smell the blood rushing through his veins. How easy it would be to ambush and overwhelm him. To just rip him apart and devour every piece of him.

A cold hand laid itself on their shoulder, holding onto them as the hunter flinched away from the unsuspected touch. “Forgive me, good hunter. You seemed to be unwell. Is everything alright?” The doll tilted her head to the side as she spoke, imitating genuine concern. The hunter just shook their head, then nodded vigorously, speaking was harder than it was supposed to.

“I’m well. The night has been too long, and I got lost in thought. Worry not.” The doll nodded slowly, closing her eyes as she did. As she moved, something shifted within her. Some sort of liquid flowing from one part to another. How had the hunter not noticed it before? That the doll was alive, that she had blood pumping through her porcelain body? No, this wasn’t blood, but it beckoned just as sweetly.

From the movement on her face, the hunter reckoned that she was speaking to them again. Only for her voice to be drowned out by the now ever swelling melody coming from within her. Her insides, her blood begging to be revealed to the air. To be devoured by the hunter. Hard shell and everything.

“Doll? I’m sorry to interrupt you, but-” She smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes, it never did.

“Don’t apologize, what is the matter, good hunter?”

They shifted, anxiety and eagerness to pounce crashing against each other in their chest. This was wrong. When had the doll done anything to deserve this? They needed to leave, leave the dream, and seek out Eileen. She would cure, set them right. Again and again, until the dream would not bring them back again.

Then again, the doll wasn’t alive. She wouldn’t mind. She would delight in the joy she was bringing them. That was what she always said, wasn’t it?

“I would like to channel some blood echos. I had some left over in clots from before I was sent back…” As always, she smiled, took their right hand in hers as she got to her knees. As she knelt, the sound of the flowing liquid burned in the hunter's ears once again.

And it was oh too much.

She didn’t even have time to retract her hands when the hunter pulled the trigger of their gun. Without resistance, the bullet shattered her cheek and cracked open the back of her head.

The hunter watched with horror as they cracked the poor doll open with their cleaver and splatter the milky iridescent liquid inside of her across the cobblestone. Distantly, they heard Gehrman call out. Ask what was going on, if everything was alright. They wanted to scream that it wasn’t. That they had lost control of themselves, succumbed to the beastly scourge. That he should end them somehow. Sever them from the dream.

But they couldn’t. They could only watch as their own body began licking whatever had been inside the doll off the cobblestone. All control over themselves was lost, and only a primal thirst burned them from inside out. Had Gascoigne felt like this as well in the end? Locked out of himself and unable to control himself anymore?

A Dozen of shrapnel pieces dug into their side and hurled them over the cobblestone. “My. A pity. I didn’t think you could go bad even in here.” Perhaps he had heard them scream. Somehow. Gehrman was standing over them. Standing. On a peg leg. A giant scythe leaning on his shoulder.

“No matter. A rotten hunter is no better than no hunter at all. Rest now. Bow your head and accept the end. You’ve done enough.”

They snarled where they wanted to thank him. Where they wanted to kneel down and offer themselves, end this nightmare, the hunter got to their feet to launch themselves at him. Not that it mattered. Gehrman was so much faster than they anticipated, and his blade so much colder.

It took less than a minute for their body to lie next to the shattered form of the doll. Equally, broken. Slowly but surely, their form turned translucent, then fell apart into dust. Yes. He must have heard their cries for help. Perhaps he would hear their gratitude as well.

“Good riddance. Just look what they did to you…” Gehrman awkwardly knelt down and picked up a piece that had formerly made up the doll's face. He paid no mind to the hunters' corpse behind him. The moon presence would surely find another fitting candidate to throw into this dream to fill their place soon enough. “Ah, it will take a bit to put you back together again. But don’t you worry, dear, I will fix you right back up.”

@aliennotperson

@mrslittletall (me, the mun)

As expected, the hunter was using the doll as the tool that she was.

Gehrman had been in the dream for so long that it was no problem for him to hide his presence. The hunter had no clue that he was watching them whenever they came back to the dream. He had only shown himself to them once, at the beginning and since then he had been in hiding.

(Though there was the possibility that the hunter was seeing him while he slept, but Gehrman had never woken up with them at his side.)

Currently the hunter was using the doll as intended, by channeling the collected blood echoes to gain further strength. For any outsider, it would look adorable, with the hunter on their knees and taking the doll's hand while she did her part. Gehrman knew the truth. It was just a soulless task being executed by a soulless thing. A thing that only could move because a Great One had brought it to “life”.

Why was it then that the hunter looked at the doll with such an adoring look? Didn't they get that the doll was not able to feel? She sometimes claimed to be able to love the hunters that visited the dream, but Gehrman knew better. All her feelings were just mimicked, she wasn't truly alive. She was just a doll.

The sooner the hunter realised that, the better.

Unable to look at the scene any longer, Gehrman wheeled his wheelchair away. It made memories stir inside of him... memories that he rather would be left forgotten.

The memories still came to haunt him though. In his dreams. Gehrman was not able to stave off the need to sleep forever... and it had even become worse with his old age. Eventually, he would fall asleep and then he would dream...

It had been perfect at first. The start of the Healing Church. It was just him, Laurence, Micolash and Maria. He considered all of them dear friends but Maria he had fallen in love with... and eventually, she had reciprocated his feelings, if only just for a little while...

During this time Gehrman had been truly and completely happy. He left the inner workings of the church to Laurence and the science to both Laurence and Micolash while he and Maria went into the tombs to find more of the holy medium as well as them fighting the beasts that escaped from them, all in the shadow of the night so that nobody would know of how dangerous Yharnam was during their hunts...

It could have been like this forever... until everything slowly was falling apart. Humans were turning into beasts... and there was no other way than to slay them, because there was no cure, regardless of how much Laurence researched. They had to recruit more and more Hunters all while they had to fight against both the beastly scourge and the danger of becoming drunk on the blood... the holy medium that brought Yharnam prosperity started to feel like a curse, but Gehrman knew he had to rely on it or he would stand no chance against any beast.

He had slain countless beasts, so many of them, and never thought about the fact that they once had been human... but Maria...

She eventually couldn't stomach it anymore and that was what Gehrman saw in his dream. It had been the first of many arguments which eventually ended in their relationship breaking apart like a mirror... He had not been willing to listen to her, convinced they were doing the right thing while Maria tried to convince him that this was all wrong.

It was too late now... far too late... All he could do was watch his younger self shouting at Maria, watching as the scene broke apart into shards and as it did, his younger self turned into the Hunter and Maria turned into the doll, and they looked so shocked when it happened... when eventually they had to realize the doll would not be able to...

Gehrman awoke from his dream, feeling tears on his cheeks. So they hadn't all dried off... he was surprised he still had tears to shed, after waiting for... for a very long time. He still held out hope that Laurence would come to free him eventually... just what was taking him so long...

His thoughts were interrupted by a voice, the voice of the doll... why did she have to sound so much like Maria. She was not Maria and never would be. The doll that Gehrman had built in his grief... she just wore her face, but that was all that she had from Maria, the rest was... just a tool to be used, a tool created by the will of the Great One.

Gehrman was about to vanish so as not to have to see the Hunter's tender look at the doll while she channelled their blood echoes, but the words of the doll stopped him.

“Tell me hunter, could this be joy?”

Gehrman's eyes widened when he saw what enticed the doll to say this word. A small hair ornament. It had been ages since he had last seen it... it had been him that crafted it. It was supposed to be a gift to Maria, as an apology after their biggest fight... but before he had been able to give it to her, she had been found dead, slain by her own hand. Gehrman had never managed the doll with it, so he had thrown it away... only to find its way to the doll anyway.

She was not Maria. She clearly was not and never would be, but... there was something happening with the doll that he didn't understand. As he didn't understand why the Hunter tried so hard to win her favour... she would always be of service to any Hunter who came to the dream. And still...

Still the Hunter insisted on being nice to her, to give her gifts, talking to her, keeping her company. They did more than just use her as a tool... and maybe, if they really wanted to, they could stay here with her forever...

Gehrman was lost in his thoughts for a long while before he came to a decision. He couldn't do it. He could not doom the Hunter to his fate. Eventually, his relationship with the doll would break apart once they realized she was not able to feel love in the same way a human did.

He made his way to the flower field. He uttered one single thing to the doll, the only thing he said to her nowadays.

“Tell them to meet me by the flower fields.”

It was there where Gehrman would free them from the dream. They should not take his place. They shouldn't feel the same heartbreak as him. And if they would pick a fight with him, he would show them that he wasn't retired yet.

And thus, Gehrman waited for the Hunter to arrive.

@shadowsheik14

[bitchalotl]

Subversions I need to see in fiction ASAP:

- Any godsdamned curves on Sci-fi architecture. Even better if it's accompanied by natural colors (I am done with the same obnoxious neon blue and magenta)

- Magic users wearing armor, the thicker the better.

- Warriors / fighers wearing robes, the bigger the better.

- Morally bankrupt monks, clerics, and paladins.

- Autistic dragons that hoard still life paintings or bubblegum boxes (literally anything other than gold or jewels)

- Assassin's and rogues with cheerful and sunny personalities, but not in an unhinged way! (Just regular tax-paying people that happen to kill for a living)

- Dark lords who wear any color other than black, have a castle/palace made of something that is not the blackest bricks possible and that use some magic/weapons that do not glow red, blue or green.

- Lawful neutral demons who treat the unholy actions like we do office jobs.

- Unhinged AF angels who can and will snap your legs for refusing the good message.

- Mentor figures who don't look like they should be at a nursing home.

- Inmortals who actually enjoy the time they have and do not have clinical depression.

- Powerful magic casters that do not look like twinks or like grandpa's straight out of the 1750's, we need more middle aged characters!!!

- Less pyromaniacs in fantasy and less bomb/gun freaks in sci-fi (where are the water magic menaces or the laser bitches at?)

- Monarchs and nobles with literally any title other than king/queen, emperor/empress and prince/princess (where are the margraves? The langraves? THE FUCKING ARCHDUKES!?)

- More women in armor, more men in dresses.

- More elves that wield axes and more dwarves that wield bows.

- MORE FOREST DWARVES AND MORE UNDERGROUND ELVES.

- High tech, advanced civilization orcs.

- Skies that are not blue, water that is not transparent and plants that are not green (you really made a whole different world and made it look exactly like ours?)

- Fantasy kingdoms with symbols that are not lions, eagles, or wolves.

- Villains that do not have snake, wolf, crow, raven or spider motifs.

- Deserts with sand that is not fucking beige.

- Pantheons in which gods live in harmony and like each other despite their differences.

- Fantasy religions not modeled after Christianity in terms of aesthetics and structure.

- The thirteen thing/person/object/place in a group is fine, normal, and not evil or cursed.

- Light as destruction and corruption, darkness as healing, and creation.

- Sci-fi settings where we can see the sun.

- Bright light and sunny skies with clear weather in depressing scenes. Heavy rain and shadows in happy scenes.

- Unwilling heroes in fantasy. (Destiny called and they hung up and blocked the number)

- Fantasy worlds with stars that are not the sun and are not yellow, or alone.

- Fantasy worlds with multiple moons (the tides are gonna be nasty AF)

- More female goddesses of war, death, fire and destruction. More male gods of life, fertility, peace, water, nature and creation.

- More orchestral music for sci-fi settings and more EDM for fantasy settings.

- Blood that is not red.

- Sadness represented with any color other than blue, same with joy and yellow and hate and red.

- Horrors beyong human comprehension that do not have tentacles or many eyes.

[salvager-beyblade-fanfiction]

Salvager Chapter 2: Venom and Salvager

Venom bared his teeth in surprise, squinting down the dual-pronged barrel of Salvager’s disruptor pistol. Right. He detached his prosthetic hand from the older man’s shoulder, raising it placatingly. Should’ve known that would surprise him. He lifted his fingers, and, with a flex of his cyborg knuckles, pushed the gun out of his face. 

Below, Salvager continued to stare up at him, eyes wide, skin dead white, and chest heaving like a bellows. He wasn’t allowing the breath to leave him, though--his mouth was pressed tight, and he wasn’t making a sound. Instead, he summoned his glowing blue player board and furiously began typing into Shinoda’s system.

I COULD HAVE SCREAMED

Venom frowned, raising his own hand--a ragged mess of pins and motors, an… experimental replacement for what had once been flesh and blood, to say the least--to the board. As his metal bones touched the transparent surface, it lit up red and, recognizing him, Shinoda quickly scrolled through his stats--

Delta Zakuro

[POMEGRANATE]

[VENOM]

Rank: 49

Strength: A

Speed: B

Endurance: B

Dexterity: S

Power: A

Inventory: D

Enhancements: S

--Before allowing him to finger in a reply.

SORRY

DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO GET YOUR ATTENTION

Salvager shook his head, but seemed somewhat cooled. The screen reset to blue as he touched it.

IT’S FINE

DID YOU FIND THE SAFE ZONE?

Venom nodded, straightening. And, the sooner we leave for it, the better.

Seeming to feel the same, Salvager tossed his pistol into the player board, keyed it off, and rose delicately to his feet. He gestured forwards with an arm. Lead the way. ...

Four androids. All Starving Silver types. 

Venom wrinkled his nose and sharply lifted his palm, gesturing for Salvarger, who trailed warily behind him, to draw to a halt. Immediately, the other man stilled and summoned a laser pistol into his grip. 

There are four, Venom signaled to him, raising as many fingers.

Salvager nodded, furrowing his brow. What kind?

Venom dragged his knobbled claw of a hand down the side of his face--their signal for Starving Silver.

Salvager took a moment to consider and then raised a finger, pointing decisively to Venom’s chest. You go out first.

Venom dipped his head, flexing his cyborg knuckles apprehensively. Five seconds, he reminded, holding up all the digits of his right hand. I can only hold them for five seconds.

Five, Salvager agreed, mimicking the full finger spread. Go.

So, with a squared jaw and flexed fingers, Venom rolled around the corner and shouted, “Hey!”

The four machines clanked and spasmed, crooking their odd-angled heads down the hall, visual receptors pulsing in their skulls. They saw Venom--they even saw his energy rifle, leveling with their knee joints--but showed no reaction, making no attempts to either attack or retreat.. 

One.

He snapped down the trigger, freeing two of the androids of their legs. They fell with a screaming clatter--like the sound of a car crash--the sound abrading Venom's ears.

Still--no reaction.

Two.

Venom threw his gun away--it dissolved into his inventory--and ripped a flamethrower out, tearing it from the air as if creating it on the spot. It was a clumsy weapon, cobbled together from useless scrap, a defunct fire extinguisher, a broken disruptor cannon Salvager had once collected, and the few vestiges of pyrotechnics Venom recalled from science class.

Three.

He broke into a sprint towards the felled androids, gritting his teeth and fixing the haphazard weapon against his shoulder. His feet clapped softly over the tiled floor and, as he drew near, white-hot laser bolts whipped past his head, nailing the androids still standing--who watched him with nothing more than mere curiosity--and whiffling his shaggy hair. Salvager.

Four.

Kicking his weight into the air, Venom bared his teeth, thrust the nozzle end of his flamethrower downward, and submerged his legless targets in a torrential blaze. Their Starving Silver curdled, peeling back from the crooked metal bones, hardened and black.

Five.

Times up.

Venom snapped his left hand out sideways, just in time to catch a Starving Silver claw between the exposed spindles of his forearm. The parasitic metal burbled out from its owner--one of the androids still standing--and washed down his cybernetic limb, coiling over it like a bloated worm. He snarled, dropping to the ground and wrenching his wrist away. Can’t touch anything else with that one now. 

More laser bursts rifled by over his shoulder and he heard the smart clacking of Salvager’s steel-toed boots pounding the floor behind him. Instinctively, he hunkered over, tucking his chin to his chest.

Just in time it seemed.

With a restrained grunt, Salvager summoned a massive, long-barrelled disruptor cannon from his inventory--his arms strained with the sudden weight of it--and heaved its elongated nose like a baseball bat over Venom’s head, hurling it against the android’s audio receptors. The thing’s neck cracked. It went crashing backward. Before it hit the ground, however, Salvager--a grim snarl scrawled down his face--caught the cannon’s heft over his knee and, with a crank of its lever, fired.

The energy beam that shot out of it was a sheer burst of light, a perfect imitation of lightning, and it struck the Starving Silver model directly in the chest. Metal skin churned and wriggled, popping like butter in a microwave, until Salvager finally threw down the switch. The beam cut suddenly, as if he had merely turned off a flashlight, and the cannon disappeared, returning once again to Shinoda’s system.

Panting slightly, Salvager looked over. Opened his mouth as if about to say something--

Down! Venom rammed his elbow against the older man’s shoulder, shoving him flat to the ground--there’s still another android--just as a metal fist closed where his neck had been an instant before. He reared back, stretched his cyborg fingers until they cracked, dislocating from their human formation and sliding back on thin, pin-like tracks, fanning out from his wrist like the ugly, twisted petals of a desiccated flower. His palm lit with a charge and he smashed it, snarling, into the android’s face. Caging a shout, he ground his stump in hard, releasing an electric charge from his hand even as the Starving Silver began chewing into his arm. The parasitic metal sputtered. Salvager rolled out of the way. The android spasmed and jolted. Its skin burned. 

Once it had turned completely black, Venom finally released it.

And, thankfully, Salvager was there, ready and stern, brandishing his blowtorch.

Without a word, Venom carefully extended both his prosthetic hands, watching blandly as his companion clicked the torch’s trigger and set them ablaze. The orange glow of the fire lit both of them like a lantern, the warm tongues dancing between Venom’s fingers and over his knuckles, searing the Starving Silver contaminant, causing the worms of metal to spasm, shrivel, and finally scab, hardening until they were useless. The neutralized pieces dropped from his limbs on their own, plinking to the cold tile floor like beads from a broken necklace.

Venom glanced at Salvager. Do I have any more on me?

The older man shook his head, dropping the torch into his inventory and replacing it almost immediately with three capsules of acid. Venom shifted uncomfortably as Salvager pointed to himself. Do I have any? 

If he did, Venom knew, he wouldn’t hesitate to drench even his entire face in the corrosive liquid. He’d done so before--the sunken scar marring the side of his left cheek was proof. And, Venom knew, he’d do it again. In a heartbeat. There was nothing worse than getting infected with Starving Silver, after all. One wriggling drop was enough to burrow into your flesh and eat you alive from the inside out. And, when the process was complete, you were left as nothing more than a zombie-like, impulse-driven husk, a Devoured Man, one of the deadliest of all the Tower’s predators.

It was a fate worse than death--worth the acid and fire to avoid.

Sighing, Venom rocked gingerly onto his feet, gesturing for Salvager to do the same. Once up, he had the older man lift his arms, take off his jacket, and inspect his shoes. Clear, he decided, and gave a thumbs up. 

Salvager allowed himself a small nod. Good. Now, come on. Let’s keep going.

Right, Venom returned the gesture. Almost there. ...

Venom had not always been a cyborg. 

Seven years prior, when the Tower first went into lockdown, he had been a complete human and Shinoda’s system had assigned him the player identification “Pomegranate”. Nothing had changed that for the first several years. He’d managed to develop an odd sense of side-character syndrome, even. 

I think I’ll be fine, he’d tell himself. I’m not special enough for something bad to happen.

Even as members of his original team lost their limbs, phalanges, or, in some cases, organs during the climb, the possibility that he would be similarly victimized had failed to sink in.

Roughly six months ago, however, his entire troupe of survivors had been massacred on Floor 179.

He would have died, too--or maybe he had; Shinoda had changed his identification tag, after all--if not for the self-replicating androids who'd stumbled upon his half-hidden body. They'd taken interest in his corpse. Of course they had--they were original models, obsessed with reproduction and expansion, notorious for rebuilding their victims rather than simply killing them. Apparently in an experimental mood, they'd determined to dig the flesh out of Venom’s wounded arms and, leaving his limbs hollow, had replaced it all--his bones, his muscles, his tendons and ligaments, his veins--with thin metal spindles and exposed circuitry. He was grateful to not remember anything; he was fairly certain the surgery had taken hours--maybe even days--and knew beyond a doubt that anesthetics had not been involved.

He’d woken up to a stranger's face an indeterminable amount of time later, lying on top of a workbench, surrounded by thick crusts of dried blood. Android limbs peppered the ground below, smoldering and half liquified. Probably by some kind of laser. A cannon, judging by the extent of the damage. 

The stranger standing over him--a slightly older man with dark hair and brown eyes, dressed in a thick leather jacket and sporting a deep scar under his left orbit--must have been the one responsible. “You alright?” the man had asked, glancing back and forth between the player board at his side and Venom’s bruised, lacerated face, his voice low and expression twisted with concern. “Venom?” he’d tried. “Or… Pomegranate? Is that your ID?”

Venom hadn't managed to say anything. His throat was dry. He hadn't been able to feel his hands. He’d merely groaned and tried to roll onto his side, falling limp when his wrists hit the limit of their binders and prevented him from turning. A determined set coming to his jaw, the stranger had extracted a knife from his inventory and cut the restraints. 

“Stay still,” he’d whispered, baring his teeth as he secured holds around Venom’s shoulders and knees, straining as he lifted the younger man up, and staggering as he sprinted full-tilt to a nearby safe zone.

Of course, that had been Salvager. ...

Venom’s new… enhancements, although objectively disgusting, had come with a few unquestionable advantages. For one thing, the metal parts filling out his skin had a knack for confusing androids, delaying their recognition software for all of five seconds. It was a slight gap, but a useful one, especially when it came to scouting. While Salvager could be identified as human on the spot and attacked just as quickly, Venom could pass through a reasonable crowd of bots unharmed so long as he moved fast, which made navigating corridors and searching out secure areas remarkably easier, even with a friend in tow.

Which was part of the reason he and Salvager were now seated in the 190th Floor’s safe zone, resting against the wall, neither of them any worse for wear.

“How long…?” Venom started, the words sticking in his throat. Protected areas like this--areas where it was safe to speak openly--were so few and far between; he hardly ever practiced his voice anymore. Now, it was being incorrigible. He coughed and tried again. “How long are we planning to stay here?”

“A few hours,” Salvager yawned, his own voice just as hoarse. He sank lower against the wall, running a hand through his dark hair and combing it back from his forehead. “I think I’ll sleep to pass the time. Want any food?”

Venom’s brow lowered. “You need some too.”

“I’ll eat later.”

“Eat now. There might not be time later.”

Salvager considered that for a moment, but still resolved the decision with a shake of his head. “I’m too tired,” he mumbled. “I’ll do it after.”

Venom sighed disapprovingly.

His companion noticed and, levying out a groan, pulled himself back upright. “Here,” he sighed, keying open his player board and flicking it over to his inventory. “I saved these when we found the 187 cafeteria.” And, suddenly, four cans of pork and beans materialized in his lap. Tapping the pad of his pointer finger atop each one, he lazily counted them out, dividing the bounty in half and pushing two in Venom’s direction. The others he tucked against the wall, “If you want a spoon or gas stove or something, just tell Shinoda to access my system. Oh, and… I want to go over our plan for Floor 191 again. I’ll set a timer for five hours and we’ll do it then. Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, and make sure you get some sleep, too.”

“I will.”

“Okay.” Then, with another suppressed yawn, Salvager rolled onto his back, summoning up a pillow and blanket. Like a true survivor, he fell asleep instantly.

Venom sniffed.

I thought he’d at least move into the corner. But I guess the middle of the floor works, too…

With a resigned huff, he opened his own inventory and, after a brief scan, drew out two bottled waters, holding both of them by their caps, his thin metal fingers hooked beneath the down-turning edges. One he placed on the floor beside Salvager’s head, and the other he grudgingly unscrewed, pushing himself to his feet and taking a long gulp. What else do I need? Can opener. Heating source. Fork… ...

“Salvager! Salvager! Come on--wake up!”

The older man groaned discordantly, stirring with an obvious amount of disappointment. “V-Venom,” he managed, raising his head slowly, as if through a field of molasses. “What time is it?” 

Venom shook his head, seizing his shoulder and pulling him upright. “Time to go.”

Salvager blinked, pawing furiously at his heavy, sleep-puffed eyes. “Shinoda says it's only been two hours…”

“Check your alerts.”

Salvager did.

His pupils tracked over the script quickly, his shoulders raising in frustration.

WARNING

Threat level: HIGH

119 androids are coming online on your floor [Floor 190]

Location: Battery Farm

See FLOOR 190 MAP

See ENEMY MAP

See RESOURCE MAP

See EXIT MAP

See TOWER MAP, MASTER

Android models: Self-replicated, reconstructed, Starving Silver, Devoured Man

Advised action: Avoid area, evacuate floor, shoot targets on sight

He ran a hand down his face. “Dang it.”

“Come on,” Venom urged.

“Yeah, yeah,” Salvager sighed, slapping himself a few times in an effort to knock the last of his grogginess away and throwing his items back into his inventory. He summoned a rifle and settled it at the ready in his arms. “Let’s get out of here.”

[thesumlax]

On Deviantart I titled this Dream Sketches page "A New Record" because 21 is the largest number of entries yet, and also because I spent the longest time procrastinating on posting them...

Also, I decided that the grid format with six drawings to a page makes them way too small for my liking. On the other hand, I tried a new method of cleaning them up, by meticulously painting the sketches with a selection brush so I can leave all of the dirt behind when I move them... and it does produce great result, but the time waste is crazy.

Anyway:

1) Something like a living cavern monster, with a rock shell and jelly-like flesh. It`s basically hollow inside, and its organs are semi-autonomous entities crawling among those giant papillae on the floor. The bubble-backed thing crawling out is a reproductive one, it produces some strange reproductive bodies that look like either fried eggs or sausages crossed with some unicellular organisms (2). They`re not sex cells, hovewer, but still multicellular structures more like gametophytes.

3) Giant sand-swimming dragon with a bunny face and some fucked-up sand-ship glued to its back.

4) Just a trio of little guys! May have been video game characters who have to escape some sort of bad place by using their abilities (umbrella, spinning hand, and a fucking gun) in combinations. They`re colored red, blue and green.

5) Some sort of sea creature calles something like "trychnotus" or "trychaetus".

6) Another sea monster that kinda looks like a rubber toy.

7) Ghostly transparent axolotl-creature.

8) An erect-limbed toad. For some reason it`s important to note that it is exactly 12 cm tall.

9) A gliding, stinger-tailed draconic creature.

10) A bear-like omnivorous therizinosaurid survivng to the modern day. Started as spec evo but suddenly tranformed into horror movie monster for some reason.

11) Tiny-headed deer-o-saurus.

12-13) Two weird pitch-black horses from two unrelated dreams. Number 13 had its eyes and those weird cracks glowing bright neon green.

14) Bizarre elephantoids. The pitcher-trunk is especially fun.

15) Allegedly some sort of early pterosaur.

16) Don`t really know what that is... Seems to be made of brown rock?

17) Now this was a dream about some superhero who could shrink down do bug size and interact with sapient bugs (of the freakishly human-faced cartoon variety). These bugs had cars, which were also bugs (pictured). Bizarrely, the bug civilization existed in the same exact spaces as human civilization despite the size difference, with human roads having lanes for bug-cars.

18) A giraffe-dragon of some kind?

19) Another thing I don`t even know the context of. The humanoid head does not have a mouth despite the teeth.

20) Something like a gorgon.

21) Pelican dragon. Apparently can spray toxic mist like a crop duster, presumably through pores in its pouch.

[tsunflowers]

having the urge to redesign one of my kamen rider ocs... her name is shirahama etsuko/kamen rider espoir and her evil dad experimented on her as part of the evil amaranth corporation's quest for immortality at any cost. she was infused with the dna of the so-called "immortal jellyfish" but her regeneration abilities are powered by an unstable reactor core buried in her chest. she has a white suit with transparent blue armor and her eyes and core are glowing orange

she has a harpoon gun but never uses it bc even more than the suit she associates it with the violence done to her at amaranth. she escapes the lab and goes on the run but her appearance even untransformed is no longer totally human (she has blue hair and orange eyes) so she mostly hangs out in areas with lots of cosplayers. she's basically living out of manga/internet cafes. she wants to avoid getting close to people but she can't stop herself from helping people in need. eventually the main rider who's a kindly grandma adopts her